


Butcher's Knife

by nicotinedragon



Category: Gunpoint (Video Game)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-20 15:51:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 65,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4793420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicotinedragon/pseuds/nicotinedragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Fire on the Wire. Coachwhip’s death hasn’t slowed ISHTAR’s attempt to muscle into East Point and they don’t take ‘no’ for an answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We All Work for Somebody

Call me Boomslang.

That’s not my name, obviously, but there’s power in names and I’m not about to bandy my own about. I’m a mercenary. I work for an organization called ISHTAR. I don’t remember what it stands for and neither does anybody else. Wasn’t Ishtar a Mesopotamian snake goddess?

I don’t know.

What I do know is that I’m in a prison visiting room talking to a man named Mark Jackson. He used to be a cat’s paw to his domineering wife before getting his mistress killed. Funny, I knew the man that did it. I don’t tell him that.

This is what I tell him when I sit down, “Yes, I am very large. No, I do not play American football. The weather is lovely up here, thank you.”

He stares at me agape while I inform him, “I am your new legal counsel.”

I was qualified to do that once, but not in the United States. He doesn’t need to know that.

I’m going to have a lot of reading to do.

“Okay…” He looks around nervously, “Why are you here?"

“My employer can prove that the evidence implicating you in the Delgado case is faked.”

His face brightens for a second, then it’s disbelieving, “How?”

I wag a finger at him, “Forensics, my friend. That’s all you need to know.”

“So, why are you so concerned? Gessler’s dead and the hitman’s probably long gone.”

He isn’t. But Jackson doesn’t need to know that.

“With the death of Fritz Gessler and D’Arcy Burnham, Intex finds itself with a vacancy to be filled.  We ask only for your discretion.”

“And my obedience.”

“We all work for someone, Mr. Jackson. You’ll answer to a board of directors, naturally, but you’ll be a free man set to do what you’d like with your…ex-wife?”

I don’t remember if they were still married or not.

“Ex-wife.” His tone was dark, “Who are you working for?”

“Intex.”

“Who’s the current CEO of Lucena?”

“Kelly Ackerson.”

“One of Melenie’s….”

“That’s a legal battle for another time, I’m afraid. Let’s work on getting you off the hook for murder and fraud first.”

“I didn’t kill her!”

“I know that, Mr. Jackson.”

“But, I didn’t do it!”

I stare him down, “Mr. Jackson. I know.”

“Glad someone believes me.”

“I don’t need to believe you, Mr. Jackson, I need to make the court believe you. Which won’t be difficult.”

“There’s also Richard Conway. Do you know him?”  


Of course I did; he shot me in the neck with an arrow.   


I got better.  


It took four surgeries and having a lot of blood poured back into me, but I did get better.  


“I am familiar.”   


“Selena was one of his potential employers; he got me thrown in jail to avenge her.”   


“The man’s got principles. Unlike present company.”  


Jackson starts to explain how he ended up in prison. I already know, so I pretend to listen.  


Diamondback visited me exactly once in hospital to give me a celebratory cake proclaiming Coachwhip to be dead. I’d seen that sort of demented glee in someone only once before. He then told me I could keep my worthless life and threw confetti in my face.   


Moments of levity are so rare for the man he tends to lose his head when they do happen.  


It was a pretty tasty cake, though: earl gray, lemon frosting. A little dense, but very moist.  


Just prior to that, I had gotten a call from Cottonmouth, calling me to some small town on the state border, ‘Don’t tell anybody, especially not the other agents. Not even Sawscale.’  


I was one for telling Sawscale everything; their fake bravado combined with compulsive lying made them ideal for keeping secrets and spreading misinformation. But, Cottonmouth rarely ordered anybody around, so I figured it was serious.  

  
It was.   


Sawscale probably figured the worst. A disabled field agent is usually a dead one. Unless you had special skills, internal affairs usually ‘retired’ you with a quick bullet to the back of the head, then told everyone you left the agency. I’d know. Sawscale and I had been put on internal affairs after Diamondback lost his mind. It helped Coachwhip keep an eye on us and let us prove we weren’t like him.   


Insanity is contagious.  


It must have scared the shit out of Sawscale when I simply vanished. I plan to make it up to them. The pocket ranger has enough traumatic experience without me adding to the pile.  
I have a plan, in fact.   


I rub the small scar on my neck, trying to get a gist of what Jackson’s rambling on about.  


“Why would he side with Rooke over me? We all wanted Selena avenged.”   


I shrug, “Lord only knows, Mr. Jackson.”   


“Are you even paying attention?”  


“Of course.”   


He looks like he doesn’t believe me.   


“All right, I’ll play along. Just tell me to whom I owe this favor.”   


“Intex of course.” I am not a liar, but I don’t always tell the truth either.  


“The people behind Intex, smartass.”  


I lean back and fold my hands, “You’ll know when you need to know.”   


I stare him down until he looks away. 

I am not looking forward to this.

 


	2. Guilty Until Proven Innocent

 

> Hightower: Status Update
> 
> Listen, things with Cottonmouth haven’t been going as well as we planned. Don’t worry about us, but we might not be able to talk for a while.
> 
> Pay: $0
> 
>  

That was the last message I got from him. He’s still going by that name professionally, since he has a pretty fearsome reputation, but I don’t call him that anymore.

You know who I mean.

I am absolutely worried about them, by the way. Agent Sawscale, whom I don’t call Sawscale, and Hightower were trying to use diplomacy to get away from a mercenary organization that seems to thrive as much on ruining their agents as they did their enemies.

I had known Sawscale for a few days and Hightower a few weeks before they left East Point, yet they were closer to me than my own family. It isn’t normal, but my relationship with those two is fire-forged. I had killed for them, and they me. We were like war buddies.

I’m in the Sunset Lanes parking lot, texting Rooke and promising her she’ll know where the two agents are as soon as I do, when I notice a minibus that was painted and decorated in that crazy Pakistani way. Its eye-watering colors practically screamed against the cement and steel of East Point. I’d never seen a jingle truck in real life before.

Before long, I’m sitting by myself, drinking beer. Bowling had grown on me in their absence; I was getting pretty good at it. I was averaging 170 a game.

The guy the next lane over, also alone, is averaging 270. He turns his head and glances over occasionally, pulling from an electronic cigarette. Whatever flavor he’s using smells tropical. He’s wearing raybands. Indoors. At night. He’s also wearing a tie-dyed bucket hat with a yellow smiley face.

“Hey, man, slow your roll,” he tells me after I roll a gutter ball.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re throwing too fast, it’s catching on the oil. That’s why you’re hooking into the gutter. Just let it glide, man.”

He demonstrates by gently rolling his ball down the lane and getting a strike, “Accuracy is more important than power, man.”

I try his method and get an eight, but a seven-ten split. I cast him a sidelong glance. He smiles disarmingly, shrugging, “So it goes.”

He interrupts me during a roll with, “You look like a spy, man.”

“The sound of balls striking pins would drown out anything I said.”

“Or anything you did.” His smile surprises me with its aggression. And almost as soon as I see it, it’s sweet and serene again.

“What do you do?” I ask.

“Chemist, man.”

“What’s a chemist do?”

“Make chemicals. I work for Intex.”

That isn’t as much a cause for concern as one might think; Intex was one of the few places to find work at all in East Point.

“Heard about your CEO. Sorry about that.”

He shrugs, “We got a new one.”

This was news, “Who?”

“Mark Jackson.”

I stop myself before I let the ball go, “He’s on trial for murder.”

“Innocent until proven guilty, brother. He’s out on bail.”

“Your board of directors doesn’t seem concerned with public image.”

He smiles, almost chuckles, “Not at all, man. Want a drink? Name’s Jeff.”

He offers his hand. I take it.

“Name’s Rick, and sure.”

He gets me a white Russian, “Where from Texas you from?”

“I’ve never been there, why?”

He points to Sawscale’s badge, which I kept on the outside of my wallet, which was on the table.

“Oh, this is a gift from a friend of mine.”

“I’ve only ever met one Texas Ranger, man, and I spent years in Austin.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. He just goes back to bowling.

As I leave the parking lot, I see the jingle bus again. If it didn’t belong to Jeff, I’d eat my hat.

 

* * *

 

 

I open the door to my apartment to see a woman standing in my living room. She was looking at my horsehead mask. She turns to me. She has short, finger-rolled hair, blue eyes, dangerous curves, and legs that go on for miles. She wore the same brand of dropshot Hightower did and a black trilby. She also wore hypertrousers.

“Mr. Conway, I presume?”

I use my most hardboiled voice, lighting a cigarette, “Depends on who’s asking, ma’am.”

She tilts her head and sucks her teeth, “I’m just going to cut right to it, then.”

She walks toward me, wide hips swishing, “You have quite the reputation in ISHTAR as an agent killer.”

“You’re with ISHTAR?” I ask, walking to the kitchen for a hard drink. Almost as an afterthought, “Care for a drink?”

I must still riding high after stopping ISHTAR’s last plan, neutralizing two and turning two. I had forgotten just how dangerous ISHTAR agents were.

She moves and gestures as they all do; smooth and graceful, interspaced by violent, quick gestures. Like their namesakes.

“Absinthe if you have it.” She replies, sitting down in my easy chair as if she owned the place, “You know, I was expecting someone a little…. What’s the word?”

If she says ‘taller’ I’m going to throw her through my window, “Tougher? I was expecting a hardboiled P.I.”

“I am a hardboiled P.I.; don’t let the angelic looks fool you. You’re with ISHTAR?”

“Yes. I’m investigating the disappearance of a few agents. Four agents.” I hope she isn’t talking about the only four agents I had ever met, though I know she was talking about the only four agents I’d ever met. I wonder why she’s counting Hightower in that number; it wasn’t as if he was still one of them by any stretch of the imagination.

I try to play it cool, “I might be able to help with that. I take payment in the form of lots of dollars.”

I handed her a glass of absinthe. As she sips, she smiles at me with her eyes. They’re as hard as any agent’s, only with a playful malevolence. I sit down at my desk.

This will turn ugly; two of those agents are dead and two are traitors. I don’t want to shoot a dame, but I don’t want to get killed, either. I doubt she’ll take ‘self-defense’ as an excuse.

“I’ve done my investigation. It all led to you.” She smiles. Here comes the ugly.

Hightower and Sawscale are supposed to be talking to their leader, Cottonmouth, aren’t they? Wouldn’t she know about that? I don’t know much about the administrative details to the organization, so I play along.

“Well, here I am.” I reply, feeling well aware of my resolver that is not in my coat, but my dresser, “Do we have a problem, ma’am?”

“Not in the way you think; you see, Mr. Conway, I’m an only child, so, I don’t like to share.”

“Share?”

“You killed two and turned two. Thanks a million for Coachwhip, by the way. I’d have paid for a recording of that; being literally knocked off her high horse has a delicious irony to it.”

“A woman after my own heart.”

“But you need to break it off with the other two; I want them back.”

“That’s up to them, ma’am.” I lean back and sip my gin, looking more confident than I feel, “The general consensus between them is that ISHTAR was starting to leave a bad taste in their mouths.”

“That was Agent Coachwhip’s influence. But, we are restoring the natural order.” She gives me a look, “And you know what? Boomslang’s a nice guy; you shouldn’t have shot him.”

“He fooled me. Do they know you’re looking for them?”

“Yes.”

I smile for a moment, “Which snake are you?”

“Death Adder.” Her grin was wide.

It was an immediate, involuntary reaction: I stand up and stumble over my chair as if she’d thrown the real thing in my lap. She laughs. I’d heard enough horror stories about her. I’d met one.

“So, you’ve heard of me! All good things, I assume.” That could have only been sarcasm.

“They told me you were dead.”

“It was a temporary setback.”

“How did you survive seven bullet wounds?”

“It always helps to have a few wildcards.”

She shakes her head, “I had a plan for Coachwhip’s little power play.”

I start to back toward my bedroom to get my resolver. I back into a bank vault door directly behind me, stepping on a size-fifteen, steel-toed boot.

His voice is soft, low, refined, and completely devoid of compassion, “You know, I just had those polished.”

Were ISHTAR agents immortal?

I quickly spin away, as if he were trying to grab me. He simply stood there, tilting his head, eyebrow raised, looking down his crooked nose at me, “Remember me, Mr. Conway?”

“Sure…” I start shakily, “I remember you, Boomslang.”

His broken-toothed smile is full of delighted malice. Since I had last seen him, he had added an olive-green scarf to keep his neck covered. He raises a hand to me, palm up, as if shrugging, “Shall we begin?”

I kick a leg out to get him before he gets me, but Death Adder is between us.

“Back off, Boomslang. I have dibs.”

Dibs?

Boomslang nods curtly, walking past me and sitting down where Death Adder had been sitting. He crosses his legs and sets his chin on his hand, watching.

I should’ve been keeping an eye on the deadlier of the two, because my world explodes in a flash of white and blue. I’m airborne for a split second, then I’m against the wall.

A knife cuts across my ear and is embedded in the drywall. Death Adder yanks it out, smiling wide, and tries to stab me again. I kick her away, sending her into my coffee table. It shatters. Boomslang watches nonchalantly, sipping my gin, as Death Adder giggles and puts her hat back on.

“Tap when you need it, madam.” Boomslang states.

She’s on her feet and jumping toward me. I duck under her and she catches on the wall in a three-point landing. I grab a table leg for which to defend myself.

“Thanks, but no thanks, Boomslang. I got dibs.” Her eyes are sparkling and her smile is horrifyingly wide.

She ducks over my swing and catches me with a knife from her coat sleeve. It rips across my dropshot, but doesn’t break my skin. I kick my leg out and sweep hers out from under her. She takes a tumble and I bring my improvised club down on her, but she catches it with her feet. I notice she wears bullfrogs.

Just like me.

She rips the table leg out of my hand, grabs my head with her ankles and leg tosses me into the floor. Rolling to her feet, she grabs my shirt, “Where is Sawscale and Diamondback, Mr. Conway?”

I get my feet under me and throw us both into my filing cabinet. She’s stunned, so I grab a fistful of hair to slam her onto my desk.

Boomslang wasn’t even watching us until I slammed his boss into the desk; he was reading one of my case files. Death Adder’s head slamming on hard wood gets his attention, but not entirely. He glances over, then goes back over my notes, sipping my gin.

Death Adder hooks an ankle around mine and pushes her hips out, tripping me. An elbow slams into my solar plexus and I’m paralyzed. A knee goes into my neck and pins me.

“Where are they, Mr. Conway?”

I glance over at Boomslang when I notice his gaze. He’s looking at me expectantly.

“I don’t know!” I choke, “They left weeks ago!”

“You’ve been in contact with them.”

“Not for the last few days!” My head was starting to swim. Out of the corner of my eye, I distinctly see Boomslang nod to me.

“You’re saying they’re both back in East Point and don’t bother to visit?”

They’re back in East Point? This was definitely news to me.

“Considering you’re here, I’d say it was a wise move on their part.”

Her lip twitches and with a flash of movement, she embeds a small dagger in the meat of my thigh. Despite the lack of air, I scream and try to get a hold of myself. She grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks our faces in close enough to kiss. I try my hardest to stare her down, but it only makes her smile.

“You know? I think I can see it, Boom. Coachwhip’s still open, isn’t it?”

She’s probably talking about the codename.

“As far as I know.”

“Good, I’d hate to have to open it up again. He’d make a nice addition to the family, don’t you think?”

“A bit of house training and I think he’d do you proud.”

“Keep dreaming!” I snarl.

“Aw, he hates me so much!” She giggles, “There’s a fine line between love and hate, you know.” She pulls the dagger out of my thigh to run the edge down my cheek, scratching the stubble, “I’ll bet them both I get you, too. Sooner or later.”

“The hell are you talking about?” I demanded. She replied with a headbutt so enthusiastic and jubilant I couldn’t compare it to anything. My nose felt like it exploded and I fall back to the floor, clutching my face.

She stands up and turns to Boomslang.

“How does he check out, Boom?”

“Telling the truth, governor. They ain’t been here recently.”

“All right. All right, fine.”

And just like that, she was gone.

Boomslang stands over me, arms folded, “Let’s see how well you manage on your own for a change. The next time you see your pet rattlesnake, he might not be so willing to help you.

I am in so much pain I didn’t notice him walk off with my laptop.


	3. Loyalty

The good news is that Jackson is released on bail.

The bad news is that I’m now responsible for him.

I terrify him just by being in his presence, though he tries to maintain an air of dignity. It’s entertaining for all of ten minutes. I hold the door for him as we walk into Intex headquarters. The bright white décor reminds me of Coachwhip and I begin to miss her. Sawscale seemed to tolerate the woman, but I rather liked her. She was intelligent, yet easy to understand. Coachwhip was the brains of the organization, calculating and logical. She didn’t care about anything except how well you did what she paid you to do. No manipulation, no tricks. She gave you a job and you did it.

I value transparency more that I really should.

I debrief him as we step into the elevator, “Now, dealing with the liaisons can be tricky. The main two are Death Adder, our leader, and Cottonmouth. Cottonmouth is very easy to deal with so long as you’re on his good side, which is also very easy. He’s not your average horticulturalist, if you know what I mean.”

“Okay….”

“Death Adder is different; she’s clever, but she’s not a deep woman. She likes money, sex, and nice things as much as anyone, but those don’t motivate her.”

“What does?”

“Games with sufficiently high stakes.”

“This is a game to her?”

“For your own survival, I suggest you stay entertaining.”

We step out of the elevator and straighten our ties in almost perfect unison.

The liaisons and a good deal of agents are there, all dressed in business attire.

I’m actually impressed that Cottonmouth is at least wearing business casual, though he keeps his sunglasses and bucket hat on.

Sidewinder always looks nice; he’s wearing an opulent necklace in place of a tie with a black turban.

And I can’t forget Diamondback; he’s wearing a tie, too.

“You!” Jackson turns a shade of green and points to Diamondback, “You! Y-you’re the one that killed Selena!”

Diamondback stays sitting, yet manages to look down at Jackson by tilting his head back just so, “I am a merely a pair of hands, Mr. Jackson; if you hadn’t taken your nuptial vows so lightly, she’d still be alive.”

Even I felt the ice on that one. I don’t show it, but Jackson does. He looks positively devastated. Cottonmouth tilts his head in mild disapproval, everyone else looks away. Agent Diamondback had been in a particularly foul mood since returning to East Point.

“Everyone! I’d like to introduce our new CEO, Mark Jackson.” Death Adder’s voice is sweet and bubbly.

Jackson sits down directly in front of Death Adder. I sit beside him, next to Diamondback.

Jackson clears his throat and starts softly, “I’d like to thank everyone here for your support and not allowing allegations against me to influence your decision to make me your CEO. I…look forward to working with you all.”

Death Adder claps her hands once, “Well said! I’d like to turn everyone’s attention to our current issues, namely, our CEO’s criminal allegations and the weapons ban.”

Diamondback speaks, “Gessler’s lobbyists have appealed to the Republicans, but they haven’t made much progress.”

Sidewinder adds, “Coachwhip’s attempt to make a coalition hasn’t made much progress either.”

I start to tune the conversation out. Diamondback taps my leg and shows me his mobile.

There’s a message to himself on it. “Come see me after this.”

I type out on my own mobile to myself, “I’ve got Jackson to babysit.”

“Tell him to fuck off.”

“Hearts and minds, Di.”

“I lost both a long time ago.”

We delete the messages and turn our attention back to the meeting.

Sidewinder is talking, “Images taken from the former Coachwhip’s computer contain prototype data for two technically legal weapons designed by Rooke Arms.”

Diamondback raises his hand, “We already tried that. All data and working prototypes were destroyed in the fighting.”

Jackson: “Speaking of which, what do we do about Conway?”

Diamondback and I both sit up. We glance at each other.

Death Adder shrugs and smiles, “He’ll either join us or die. Simple as that. Our agents will make life very difficult for him until he decides.”

Diamondback noticeably flinches.

Death Adder continues, “But, that brings up a good point. What’s the status of Agent Sawscale?”

Diamondback tries to keep his voice level, but it comes out as forceful, “Agent Sawscale will be impossible to find unless they want to be found.”

I couldn’t even look at her when she spoke, “Well, my agents making Conway’s life hell should be a good way to draw them out. And Sawscale will either return or they’ll share a grave with Conway. I’m easy.”

My eyes meet Diamondback’s for a moment, then our faces went blank.

After the meeting, I tell Jackson to wait in the lobby and follow Diamondback to his office.

“So,” I begin, “You return to Death Adder to allow Sawscale an escape, get a promotion originally intended for them, and now I’m on your team.”

“Nothing escapes you, Boom.” Diamondback’s voice is cold as he sits down at his desk.

“So, Field Liaison Red and Black, ISHTAR ace, why?”

“Because I asked for you personally.”

Not the answer to the question I asked, but I let it slide. Anybody could be watching, “After everything we’ve been through, you trust me to do your bidding?”

“Agent Boomslang, I only trust you to be Agent Boomslang.”

I can’t keep my cruelest smile off my face. Diamondback had a way of bringing it out, “And what are my orders?”

“Babysit Jackson Jackson a keep an eye out for Conway for now. You know how unpredictable and dangerous he can be. The man has principles.”

“A liability. I’m curious to see how well he does against us without your help.”

“I hurt him more than I helped him to be honest. In the list I keep in my head of people not to fuck over, Conway’s number one.”

I chuckle, rubbing my neck “Bloke’s surprisingly deadly, I’ll give him that, but worse than fucking over, say…Death Adder?”

His face is serious, “They’re pretty close, but Conway has a special way of fucking people right back. Just ask your ward.”

“Conway did commit a murder and a betrayal with a liaison to witness it, so I suppose he _is_ the next Coachwhip.”

The thought is absolutely hilarious, but I’m not laughing. Not in Diamondback’s face, anyway, because he snaps at me, “Did you forget your loyalties already?”

“I haven’t forgot! But, loyalty to a dead woman? Only you’re that mad.”

“Isn’t the name ‘Coachwhip’ under consideration for retirement?”

“Cottonmouth wants to retire it, but Addie doesn’t think so; she wants Conway to have it. Anyway, we don’t retire codenames.”

“I don’t know if this is true or not, but Sawscale told me we retired ‘Rat Snake’ and renamed an agent because nobody wanted to work with him. Everyone thought he was out to fuck them over.”

“According to Saw, he _was_ trying to fuck us over, but we didn’t know at the time. Then we retired the agent himself.”

I don’t know if there was ever an Agent Rat Snake or if Sawscale was just telling stories. I’d never met an Agent Rat Snake myself, but the story was pretty entertaining.

“Internal affairs is a bitch.” A thought crosses his face and he points at me for emphasis, “If he’s still under consideration for recruitment, maybe this won’t be so bad.”

“I think it’s you that ought to remember his loyalties.”

He shoots me this nasty look, “I am absolutely loyal.”

“Sawscale would disagree.”

“No, they wouldn’t; when they let you find them, you can ask them yourself.”

“Whatever. I will ask them next time I see them. I nicked Conway’s laptop, so he’s crippled. Sidewinder’s got his analysts on it now.”

“The guy covers up going to the grocery store. They’re not getting in that machine.”

“And yet he uses his real name for operations.”

“I thought about that, too, but he’s covered his tracks enough that I doubt it matters.” He pulls his agent ID out of his hat and looks at it, “Anyway, East Point Free Agency requires legal names. They’re more legitimate than us. They actually give the appearance of cooperating with law enforcement.”

I know his first name, but not his last. He sees me trying to get a look at the information on his ID, so he gives me a look and tilts it away from my view, “I don’t know you like that, Boom.”

“Do you know my name?”

“Yes, it’s Agent Boomslang.”

“I’m told the liaisons know our real names.”

“We do. Just in case you try to fuck us over, we have your initiation to destroy you with. It’s one reason why murder is a requirement.”

“Coachwhip could have gotten you with your initiation, but didn’t?”

Verbalizing it helps me figure it out. My stomach sinks.

“I don’t know why she didn’t, either.”

The heat rises to my face and I can’t look at him, “I know why. She was punishing us. Team Black.”

Punishing us at the cost of more than a few good agents, to include Sawscale themself. I will never tell them how close they actually came to getting kicked out of the agency. Internal Affairs is a bitch.

Diamondback’s posture closes up and he looks away. His voice is soft and I can’t see his face with his hat in the way, “That’s fucked up.”

I’m not in any sort of mood for a heart-to-heart with a man that made my life hell, “I’ve got a suspected murderer to babysit. We can talk about it later.”

He waves me off, still not looking at me.

 

* * *

 

“Was Gessler ever in ISHTAR?” Jackson asks me. He’s got his turtleneck pulled up high around his ears. Death Adder probably had some fun with him, because he’s as white as a sheet. You’ll never get that self-respect back, Jackson, but you’ll learn to live without it, I’m sure.

“Sort of. Not really.” I reply. We’re driving back to the apartment we’re forced to share. I’m making sure we’re not being followed, though I have a team running counter-surveillance. I’m still not used to the new guys.

“Melenie told me he worked with you guys.”

“He was more of a client that paid in arms and ammunition, to be honest. We took care of him and he took care of us. Krait had actually sent Diamondback over to him so we could corner him in East Point. It only cost her life.”

“What was that all about?”

I shake my head, “Family matters, Mr. Jackson. Just family matters.”

“So, first it was Death Adder, then Coachwhip was the leader, now it’s Death Adder again?”

“It was a bit of a civil war, yes.

“Who’s Sawscale?”

“My old partner.”

“Loyal to Coachwhip?”

“No. Stop asking questions.”

He shuts up and stares out the window. I turn up the music to drown out my thoughts but it doesn’t work. I think about happier times, when my biggest problems weren’t people named after snakes.


	4. Infinitesimally Burning

Without my laptop, I’m crippled. I still had most of my tools on my mobile, but there was very little exploitation I could do. The clouds had rolled in and promised a heavy rainstorm. If Death Adder had wanted to be really cruel, she could have broken the window.

Mark’s out on bail and Rooke’s furious.

“There’s never enough skirts to chase with that man, is there?”

I’m putting my coffee table back together and I have Rooke on speaker.

“I’m sure you know by now, but things with Agent Cottonmouth apparently didn’t go so well.”

“Yeah, I kind of gathered that.” She snaps.

“- didn’t tell us Death Adder and Boomslang were back.”

“That’s not a good sign. You’d think he’d warn you. Are you okay?”

The idea sticks me in the heart and twists, “I think I’ll be okay. You don’t really think he’d get back with them, do you? Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe he’s just in hiding.”

“I can’t be sure what he’d do. I think it’s more likely he’d side with her over us. He was obsessed with avenging her before he met you, remember?

“Yes.”

“Abusive relationships can be like that. You can’t blame him for returning to her if he did. Just know…that it makes him an enemy if he has.”

“I…understand. What about-?”

“They’re pretty principled, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they returned, considering Boomslang seems to be working for her.”

“Why would Death Adder ask me where they are if she already knew?”

“To see if you know, of course. She has to keep an eye out for double agents, too.”

Maybe using their real names isn’t a good idea over the phone, “I don’t think…Sawscale…would side with Death Adder. She turned on her for, um, our Hightower‘s sake.”

“But they would side with Hightower, and maybe Boomslang, too.”

“Boomslang’s a dick. I don’t know how close they are.”

“They all used to work together. It wouldn’t be unreasonable for them to share a common bond.”

“And what’s that make me?!”

“Rick! This is all just conjecture. We don’t know if either one is working for ISHTAR. They could just be in hiding.

“I don’t know if I could handle being their enemy again.”

“Anyway, it’s not a good idea to have this conversation over the phone. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re listening in on the both of us. We should switch to the chat client.”

“They’re not listening in on me without a bug. They can’t tap my line.” I made sure.

“I should hire you on as my security specialist.”

“That’s a good idea. Maybe I can send an anonymous tip to the East Point Police, too.”

“Unless they’re on the take.”

“Not Mayfield. He’s honest and he’ll listen to me.”

“If you think it’d help, then by all means.”

 

* * *

 

I contact Mayfield on the emergency channel and meet him at the Monument Café. I would have liked to use the Pink Elephant, but Mayfield would have looked really out of place there.

He shoots me this disapproving look as I sit down at a booth in a corner. He has his eyes on the entrance. 

“Can you look any more like a spy? I’m really not sure the people running surveillance on me are sure that I’m talking to a spy. Can you whip out a folder with a big, red ‘TOP SECRET’ stamp on it?”

“The getup serves a purpose, you know.” I look around and see a few uniformed police having lunch.

“The café is one story, Conway, you don’t need it.”

I see Jeff sitting at the counter, drinking coffee, with a backpack at his feet. I recognize him because he’s wearing his bucket hat and sunglasses. He’s watching the news. It doesn’t feel like a coincidence.

I tell Mayfield about my meeting with Death Adder and Boomslang over coffee and hamburgers. He alternates between writing down a police report and taking notes in the crossword puzzle section of the newspaper.

“We’re tracking ISHTAR as a potential criminal organization, on the surface, though, they seem pretty legitimate.”

“How on Earth can they be considered legitimate?”

“They’re a security and intelligence company. Sort of like East Point Free Agency, though they’re international. Not very big, but they charge enough to make them pretty big contenders in the mercenary world. “

He shows me their website on his tablet. I look through it, “No mention of the murders for hire.”

“That’s what passes for ‘private security’ in their eyes.”

Jeff gets something out of his backpack from the corner of my eye. An electronic cigarette. I notice he has my laptop. I know it’s mine because I put my name on it.

“Just a second….” I stand up to confront, but Jeff lays money on the counter and walks off.

“Conway…?”

“That hippie has my laptop!”

Mayfeild tries to stop me, but I’m already out the door.

I lose him almost instantly. This confuses me. If he were baiting me, then he’d want me to tail him, right? I start to walk back to the subway, baiting _him_. He wants me to find him. I look back to the diner to see Mayfield is watching me, furious. He mouths something to me. It looks like ‘Trap’. I nod to him and keep walking.

I walk about a block and as I turn a corner, I’m stopped by a chubby biker woman. Half her head is shaved and half is to her elbows. She’s wearing a biker hat and hypertrousers. They’re klipspringers, so it’s hard to tell what color she’s using.

“You must be Conway.”

I tip my hat to her, “ISHTAR?”

She grins. I notice her lip and eyebrow are pierced.

“You snakes run out of rats to sniff?”

She waves a nightstick in my face, “That sounds like hostility. And after we offered you a place with us.”

A man appears from behind me, wearing a brown slouch hat. He doesn’t have hypertrousers, just jeans. I had been wondering if they were standard issue for them.

I’m too angry about my laptop to remember that ISHTAR agents were dangerous, “I don’t appreciate being robbed. Get that stick out of my face.”

I keep an eye out for Jeff; I spot him across the street, watching us.

The guy in the slouch hat speaks in an Australian accent, “Death Adder wants you to come with us.”

I actually chuckle, “Yeah, right.”

“She says she doesn’t want to waste valuable human resources.” He grabs my arm and tries to drag me to the car.

I get pulled about two steps when I say, “Have it your way, then.”

My elbow slams into his solar plexus and he folds. The woman swings at me with her nightstick. I get under her swing and sock her in the gut, then kick her legs out from under her. Her friend tries to grab me from behind, but I kick him in the hip and he falls into a table.

People start to run.

My legs are kicked out from under me and I land on my back. The woman is surprisingly flexible and tries to axe kick me in the face. Her hyper-trousers are purple. I catch her leg with my gate crashers and push her into the wall. A single punch to the face takes her down.

The man gets me in a full nelson, so I jump, taking him with me. He realizes his mistake when I elbow drop him to the pavement.

I dust myself off. Dispatching them had been easy. Really easy, in fact. ISHTAR agents were supposed to be the best of the best, right?

 _“Well, as someone who’s already killed twenty of your agents, that’s almost half, I think Dr. Rooke would be_ very well _served employing me.”_

Oh. Right.

I look around for Jeff and notice him taking off.

I follow.

The two agents groan, getting to their feet. They see me running, so they follow.

My mobile rings. I don’t recognize the number, so I ignore it. I get a text: “Round the corner, get to the coffee shop. Sit at the table with the lone cup of coffee on it. Take off your hat and coat and wait.”

I rounded the corner and saw a lone cup of coffee at a table at the patio. I sit down immediately, taking off my coat and hat, putting them in the empty chair. I pick up the cup of coffee and sip it.

The man runs past me. The woman follows, cursing in what I think is Albanian. She stops and looks around, frightened, then runs past.

Finally, Jeff rounds the corner and stops, standing there. He had apparently doubled back around to get behind me. With the sunglasses, I can’t see where his eyes are looking. He smiles and chuckles. Then he walks on, playing with the mobile in his hand.

I look at the coffee cup in my hand. There’s a cowboy hat drawn in orange marker on it. I look around, desperate, but I don’t recognize anybody except for a few police. I get another text: “Coast is clear.”

I text back, “Where are you?”

“Closer than what’s safe.”

“I miss you.”

“Miss you, too. Stop looking around for me. You’re going to draw attention to us.”

I force myself to stop looking, “I’m sorry, I just” It takes me a second to type the rest, “could really use a friend.”

“(^;(3 You have more than you think. We’re conversating, aren’t we?”

“You know what I mean. The last guy to pass me has my laptop. It’s a dangle, but I really need that laptop.”

“Rick, that’s Cottonmouth. He’s a field liaison. It isn’t a good idea.”

Anger starts to rise to my face.

“That’s the guy that wouldn’t let you quit.” I’m already putting my gear back on. Sawscale either can’t see me, or they’re dedicated to their cover. They text me back, but I’m already on Cottonmouth’s tail.

I know it’s a trap. Only an idiot wouldn’t know that. But with Cottonmouth, Death Adder, Boomslang, plus two more, and Mark Jackson, the bad times haven’t even started yet.

I’m out numbered and outgunned and if I’m going to be any damned good against them I need that fucking computer back. He starts leading me toward the mostly abandoned industrial side of East Point. The rain starts to pick up and I turn my collar up.

“Christ, Conway!” Mayfield catches up to me.

“Been hearing that a lot, lately.” I mutter, keeping my eye on that rainbow hat.

“Can you prove that’s your laptop?”

“Yes.” I’d been so used to stealing other people’s laptops, I never thought I’d be trying to get my own back. The irony isn’t lost on me.

“That’s all I need.” He starts talking on the radio to summon backup. They’ll only be here in about a million years. Mayfield suddenly stops me, “He’s got something in his hand.”

“It’s his mobile, why does he have his mobile out in th-?“

At first, I thought it was a lightning strike that hit us. I felt what I thought was a baseball bat hit me in the head. I go down. My ears ring. The world is filled with dirt and pieces of brick. Mayfield pushes my face to the asphalt as bits of brick and mud rain down on us. He yanks me to my feet.

The dirt clears and Cottonmouth is standing not fifty feet from us. Smiling. He has his head tilted just so to keep the rain off his sunglasses.

“Freeze! Police!” Mayfield draws his weapon. He’s shaking, disoriented, so he goes back to his training. I draw my pistol with my ears still ringing and my legs shaking.

“He’s got a dead man’s switch.” I warn. Why else would he just be standing there with two pistols drawn on him?

It starts to pour.

“Police Chief Mayfield?” Cottonmouth shakes his head, “I don’t like the police very much.”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck the pigs. Got it.” Mayfeild’s voice is hard.

“You going to shoot, Officer? You’ll never take a liaison out so cheap if you do. There isn’t even a cat nearby in all this rain.” That serene smile looks almost sick. I can see our reflections in his sunglasses.

“Drop the phone.” Mayfield orders.

“I’m sure your cop friends will do their best to sort the three of us out when they find us. They won’t be able to sort us out completely, though. All of our ashes will be at least a little mixed.”

“Listen, Agent Cottonmouth,” I raise my hands, “Just give me the laptop back. I have nothing against you.”

Cottonmouth shakes his head, “You gotta want it, bro.”

He unslings his backpack and offers it to me in his left hand.

“Conway….” Mayfeild warns.

“I know….” I start to walk toward him, watching. I realize how similar they are to snakes. I imagine that trying to get close to a real cottonmouth would be just like this. Slow without breaking eye contact. His hand is still raised, as if to strike.

I should have watched his right.

The explosion comes from behind me, knocking me to the ground. Mayfield just vanishes without a word. I scream. Cottonmouth runs. I look back at the debris and don’t see any sign of the police chief.

I look back to where Cottonmouth was, then back to the rubble. Cottonmouth is a dangerous suspect that just attacked a police officer. I know what Mayfield would want.

I run after Cottonmouth.

I’m faster, I have hypertrousers and he doesn’t.

He’s taking off toward the far side of Lake Marie, where the drains take the excess rainwater. I’m no Marine or Soldier or cop or anybody but Richard Conway. I’ve never had to contend with a bomber, so I expect explosions with no idea where they might come from.

Cottonmouth is in amazingly good shape, and he’s wearing me down. He turns a corner and as I follow, I’m knocked off my feet with another ear-shattering explosion. It knocks me into wall, but I stay on my feet. My dropshot is paying for itself, holding me together and absorbing the blasts.

This is stupid. He has all the initiative. I can’t just let him lead me into every trap he has set. I jump onto the wall and get to the roof. That smiley face stands out against the ground. I chase him along the roofs.

With jumping, I catch up. I’m almost on top of him when an explosion takes my landing away. I fall a good three stories into the drainage ditch. The current almost overwhelms me as I struggle to my feet. The hypertrousers shut off to prevent damage. I’m dragged to a cement wall and I stand up, gasping. I find my waterlogged hat and put it on my head. Cottonmouth is standing over me. That smile never seemed to leave his face.

“I ain’t got no gun, brother. I got no knife. I’m not that kind of guy.”

I pull myself out of the water and scramble to find footing on the sidewalk. Cottonmouth is standing on the cement footbridge that separates the two drainage ditches. I draw my pistol.

“You see, bro, I’ll use what tools do the best job, but I’m an explosives kind of guy.”

He sets another one off, right behind me. It takes a huge chunk out of the warehouse.

“A little ‘pop pop’ of a pistol isn’t going to match the sight of that.”

“Pretty surprising for a hippie like you.” I’m trying to catch my breath.

“You know, it’s just oxidization, bro. It’s the same thing that’s going on when air and water meet iron. Same thing that happens in every single one of your cells every minute of every day. What I’m doing is no different than the rust that covers half this city."

“Is it a requirement to be insane to join ISHTAR?”

“No, but it helps.”

I remember his dead man’s switch, “Drop the phone or I bum rush you and kill us both.”

Cottonmouth tilts his head just so, “And at the same time, everything around us is infinitesimally burning….”

The footpath we’re on simply ceases to exist. I’m sucked into darkness. The cold water shocks me, consumes me whole. My head is ringing, I don’t know which way is up. My lungs fill with water and burn.

Something slams into the water beside me and something as thick as my leg wraps around my neck.

I black out.

An eternity later, light pushes into my chest and cracks my ribs. I puke water all over myself. A shadow looms over me, larger than life. I’m on someone’s kitchen floor.

Boomslang pushes water out of my lungs with one hand, crushing my ribs. I’m too messed up to do anything but listen.

His voice is rough and quiet, “You may be the ISHTAR agent killer, but you won’t get far without someone to watch your back. Your reckless stupidity nearly got yourself and the police chief killed.”

“Mayfield..?”

“He is alive. In hospital.”

I start to sit up, but Boomslang forces me down, “Having someone watching your back means watching out for others. No matter how you feel about them, personally.”

“Why are you…?”

“I may need to save your worthless life for my own ends…but I do _not_ have to make this painless.”

He pushes a wet cloth to my face, “Breathe deeply and count back from ten.”

I make it seven before I pass out.


	5. Rain

I walk into the board room completely soaked. My hair is already starting to fuzz. The liaisons look up, the agents, Cascavel and Copperhead, keep their eyes on the ground and their hats on the table.

“Hell happened to you?” Diamondback asks.

I point to the window, “It’s absolutely pissing out.” I’m not lying, but I don’t answer his question either. I think he prefers it that way, since he doesn’t follow up.

Lucky for me, Cottonmouth and the two agents are also soaked to the bone. I take off my dropshot and hang it up.  My god, it stinks in here. Like dirt and smoke and rain.

“As I was saying….” Sidewinder is looking at me askance in front of a map of East Point. I sit down and stare him down. He narrows his eyes at me, “The target neutralized two of the three agents, but knocked unconscious by Agent Cottonmouth via IED. He was last seen in ditch thirteen.”

He motions to the spot with a laser pointer. Cottonmouth nods, “They were just concussive, no shrapnel. He should be fine, assuming he doesn’t drown, of course.”

“Absolutely brutal,” Death Adder grins, “He took you two out like you were cub scouts.”

The two of them look at each other, then look at the floor. Best not to say anything when you’ve failed. It might just make your punishment worse.

Cottonmouth frowns, sipping a white Russian, “This guy some kind of ex-military?”

Sidewinder cleared his throat and looks at his notes, “If by ‘ex-military’ you mean the Boy Scouts, then yes. He was a white hat for some security company that didn’t survive the weapons ban. He joined the East Point Free Agency a little over a year ago. He didn’t even have the standard spy equipment until just prior to the Intex Massacre where we lost Gessler.”

“That doesn’t explain where he got this sort of training.” Cottonmouth said.

“He picked that up on the job.” Sidewinder looked up at Cottonmouth, “Don’t forget he was trained by some of our own.” Sidewinder looks at Diamondback, who folds his arms and shuffles his feet, “The only way we know how.”

Death Adder smiles, “I, for one, am I fan of on-the-job training.”

“Speaking of which; Hard to say if he failed or passed the initiation. Not exactly standard, sis.”

Death Adder shrugs, “Strictly speaking, he did betray Coachwhip. A betrayal and a murder, so it sort of counts.”

“You got a damned funny way of looking at things, sis. Damned funny.” I wish I could see Cottonmouth’s eyes. It’d be easier to see what he’s thinking.

“Are we letting him get by on a technicality?” Sidewinder asks, “At any rate, you’d have a hard time sending him against anybody else. He’s a nobody. No friends. No family to speak of. Like everyone else in East Point, he fell on hard times after losing his job. That has a way of alienating people. ”

Diamondback looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t.

“So, he’s perfect.” I remark.

“And doesn’t want the job.” Cottonmouth finishes his drink and turns to her, “Adder, I can’t help but think that the agents that turned on you came almost overwhelmingly from your recruits.”

“Where’s this come from?”

“Your tendency to recruit from enemies eventually came back to bite you.”

“That’s because Coachwhip took on a bunch of heartless mercenaries who would’ve rather hedge their bets. She had to recruit from my own, since hers wouldn’t stand with her. Except for you, Boom.” She smiles at me. Now, it was my turn to avert my eyes. I shrug and try to keep the fear off my face.

I mutter, “Considering the purge, I’d say it was a good idea we hedged our bets.”

She starts rubbing Diamondback’s back and I can tell it makes him uncomfortable; I can see his blood pressure rise from here. His tells are subtle, sure, but there if you know where to look, “It’s best to find people you can get inside. Keep them off balance. Coachwhip gave them false hope that things would be better without me. But I was already in their heads; Coachwhip won a battle, but her little rebellion failed because she didn’t consider the human factor.”

“Sir? Ma’am?” Sidewinder taps his laser pointer on the table.

She smiles brightly and turns her attention back to Sidewinder, “Yes, Sidewinder?”

“I nominate Richard Conway for lethal targeting.”

“You don’t think he can be turned?”

“I do not.”

“I do.” Diamondback interrupts, his voice shaking slightly, “Conway’s freelance; he’ll follow the money.”

“I think if I can distance myself from Coachwhip, I can talk him into joining. Sawscale will soon follow, if only to keep him safe. After that, they won’t say shit. But I’m easy. Let’s put it to a vote. All in favor of lethal targeting, raise your hands.”

I fold my arms while the other two agents keep still. Sidewinder and Cottonmouth raise their hands.

“All for recruitment.”

Diamondback and Death Adder raise their hands.

“It’s a tie. Boomslang, as the most senior agent in this room, the choice is yours. What do you think?”

She’s already made her choice and we all know it. She’ll veto any decision that isn’t hers. This was just a formality from when Coachwhip was alive. But, I do have to say something.

Luckily, I’ve already picked the winning side, “I say we keep him. If we don’t, we risk losing Sawscale. They’ll jump town.”

“And then they’ll really be impossible to find.” Diamondback mutters.

I stare into Diamondback’s eyes and he holds my glare, “And then we’ll have another ‘Diamondback’ situation on our hands.”

His mouth twitches into an almost-smile.

“I think we can all see what that’s done to our standards.” Death Adder fixes Cascavel and Copperhead in a vicious glare. The two hold hands under the table. They really should have known what they were signing up for when they turned on whatever friends they may have had in their previous lives.

“Ma’am!” Cascavel tries to defend herself, “How were we supposed to know-?“

A knife flies across her face, between the two of them, and embeds itself in the door. It had been Sawscale’s favorite way of getting attention. Diamondback’s hand is still suspended, “You picked a fight against someone that killed a field liaison, crippled an agent, turned another agent, and beat me to a standstill. What the fuck were you expecting? A handjob and a shiatsu?”

Crippled? I got better.

“It was two agents against one!” Cascavel sputters.

Diamondback’s voice is low and level, “You picked a fight with the same guy that eats much stronger snakes than you for breakfast. Stay out of his fucking way and let actual agents handle this.” He closes his eyes, “Boomslang, try to keep these two out of trouble.”

“As you wish, governor.”

“So, it’s decided; Conway’s still a potential recruit.”

Cottonmouth shakes his head, “I’ll say it again. You got a damned funny way of looking at things, sister.”

 

* * *

 

I meet the two new agents later, as we’re walking out of the building, “You’ll have to mind Diamondback. He’s been rather particular since returning.”

“Is it true what they say, mate?” Copperhead asks, “He really kill twenty agents for siding with Coachwhip?”

“Hard to say, really. Loads of agents died in those days. Could’ve been him, could’ve been the missions. Seems like it, though.”

“How many do you know for sure?”

“Don’t worry so much about old Red and Black. He’s the right hand of Death Adder. He doesn’t scratch his arse without her say-so.”

“What do you want us to do?” Cascavel asks.

“You’re my surveillance team until we get you two trained up properly. With this push, we haven’t had time to train agents. I’ll do my best to keep you out of the sight of the liaisons. You’ll be Mark Jackson’s bodyguards as cover. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” They both say in unison.

“Keep an eye on Jackson for me. If he gets a donut down the street, I want to know about it. And…keep the kettle on for me, will you?”

Copperhead tips his hat, “No worries.”

Cascavel speaks, “Why are we trying to recruit a guy that clearly wants us dead?”

“Oh, plenty of our people were enemies before we recruited them. I was. Diamondback was a target before he was picked up. Conway has actually been recruited before by Coachwhip. He just backed out last minute.”

Cascavel stares up at me with her eyes. Her contacts are mismatched. One green, the other purple, “And then killed Coachwhip.”

Copperhead pulls his hat down over his eyes, “Well, if he knows tradecraft, we can’t really let him go, now can we?”

I decide to have a bit of fun and pull my mobile out of my coat, “Want to see your predecessor, Copperhead?”

I show him a picture and he recoils, “Blimey, mate, why would you take a picture of that?”

“Keeps me humble, mate. Your predecessor was twice the man you are. Diamondback took it pretty hard and Sidewinder was never the same after she died. Sidewinder retired from field work entirely.”

If he hadn’t been more useful as an intelligence manager, he’d have been dead.

“Did he love her?” Cascavel asks, “Sidewinder, I mean.”

I shoot her a look, “They were partners. That means everything.” I point to the two of them, “Take care of each other. While you’re here in ISHTAR, which is until you’re dead, you’re all you two will have.”

I take off toward the underground, leaving the two of them confused and standing in the smog-drenched rain.

God, I hated the rain. Sawscale loved it. Go figure.

Those two didn’t ask me where I was going. They can’t tell the liaisons what they don’t know. 

There’s hope for this two, yet.

 

* * *

 

I have to take a train and then a bus to get to Rooke’s house. Two Dobermans, Fritz and Mark, greet me at the gate. They let me know exactly what they’d like to do to me if the gate wasn’t separating us.

I ring the door and position myself in front of the camera. Using my most obnoxious British English, I say, “Good day to you, love. Beautiful weather we’re having. Might I come in?”

“Agent Boomslang.” Rooke sounds irritated. Mission accomplished, “Let me call off the dogs.”

A sound only the dogs can hear calls them back to the house and the gate opens. I step inside. Damned dogs.

In the city of East Point, people vanish all the time. In East Point proper, it’s not uncommon to see the remains of some scuffle in any given alleyway or a final message scrawled in blood in some basement.  People slept to the lullaby of gunshots and police sirens in that city. But not out here, where the owners of the city lived. Out here, the blood is scrubbed clean before it even has a chance to dry. Out here, it’s nearly silent. You actually can see the stars at night. There’s nothing around me but gorgeous houses and carefully manicured oak trees. And the rain. Even the rain is clean out here.

I’ve never minded killing (for) people like them, but some days I just wanted to shove all the filth they produced right in their faces.

I step inside and remove my coat. The hook I place it on protests under the weight. Rooke is sitting at the kitchen with the kettle on. Her dogs lay on their beds, at her feet. Fritz gives me a warning growl. Mark seems to roll his eyes at me. On the table is an ocean of paperwork.

“I didn’t know what kind you wanted, so I just kept the water hot.”

“What kind have you got?”

She gets up and hands me a towel, rattling off flavors.

“Just English breakfast, love.” I dry myself off and start reading the contracts she left on the table.

“Take sugar?”

“No, thanks, doctor. I’m sweet enough.” We share a smile, “How’s Conway?”

“Still asleep. When did I become a back alley doctor for spies and criminals?”

“When you needed us. Don’t waste valuable resources.”

“Speaking of valuable human resources, why are you trying to help?”

I look up at her, “Death Adder’s back. That’s my cue to leave. And I don’t want what’s coming to the Agent formerly known as Sawscale.”

“You’re doing all this for them? You know what happens if you get caught, don’t you?”

Them? Good, I didn’t have to brief her.

“Yes. But ISHTAR reveres its enemies. My punishment would be relatively light if they don’t decide to kill me. If they do, it’ll be a closed-casket funeral.”

“So, you’ll either get off light or you’ll be tortured to death, got it.”

“All dependent on Death Adder’s mood, of course.”

“And…Diamondback?”

“What about him?”

“How’s he holding up?”

“Not well. I don’t trust him. He’s got good access and placement, but I have to be clever as to how I get information. He knows I’m up to something, but he doesn’t know what. He seems content staying as far out of my plans as possible. He can’t tell old Addie what he doesn’t know.”

She gives this disgusted little sigh, “I wasn’t expecting the assassin that killed Selena to such a fragile guy.”

“Not the picture of mental health, is he?”

“Can we use him?”

“As of now? No.  He’ll turn on us for her in a heartbeat. He’s probably not in love with her anymore, but he’s plenty afraid of her. Self-esteem was the first thing to go when she showed back up.”

She gives another disgusted sigh, angrily flicking her hair, “Those are the contracts for both Rooke Firearms and Lucena Logistics. I need to know if Mark still has any claim.”

“I’ll let you know, love.”

“How much time to do have to be here?”

“Few hours. I’m a team leader, so I put two agents on your ex. They’re avoiding the liaisons, but won’t offer much protection if asked.”

“Are they in on this?”

“No, of course not.”

“I trust you to be able to handle your own issues.”


	6. Strange Bedfellows

I woke up to the sound of rain on the window. It’s soothing and I spend a few moments listening to it. It’s dark in here and I’m in someone else’s bed with a cold pack on my head. How did I end up here?

I seem to be on the second floor, since there’s voices coming from below me.

This is a really nice bed. It’s a really nice room.

I sit up and I’m suddenly dizzy. My head hurts a little as I try to remember what happened.

Cottonmouth. That’s what happened.

I’m wearing someone else’s clothes. A worn shirt and sweatpants. A little too tight and a little too long. Where’s my equipment?  I see my hat on the dresser with the sweatband turned out, resting on a towel. I touch it and it’s still wet, so I leave it alone. Best not to risk warping it.

The clean sneak and the crosslink coil are sitting beside the hat, drying. They have to dry completely before I turn them back on or they’ll short. Same with the bullfrogs, which I notice are hanging up on a closet door, dripping into a towel.

So, my equipment’s busted until they all dry and I’m wearing some stranger’s clothes. Just perfect.

I step into the hallway carefully, listening to the voices. I must be on the outskirts of town, in the nice neighborhoods. I rarely had business out here, so I wonder why anybody would take me here. I follow the stairs quietly and I can start to make out what they’re saying.

“Rooke, a _good lawyer_ couldn’t get you out of this.”

Boomslang. The guy that saved me for a change. I am absolutely livid that I now owe him.

“And you aren’t a good lawyer?”

Rooke. She’s sitting at the kitchen table. With Boomslang.

“Not on this continent.”

I realize how ridiculous I look, now that I know whose clothes I’m wearing. I lean in the doorway.

“Ahem.” I say, trying to look tougher than I feel.

“Conway!” Rooke stands up and gets in my face, staring into my eyes, “Keep looking at me.”

I stare into her eyes while she turns his head this way and that. She shines a light in my eyes.

“Pupils look normal…Follow my finger?” She goes on like this, ordering me to do various small tasks. She taps the palm of my hand with a pen to see what my fingers do.

“Okay, let me know if you have any confusion, ringing, headache, dizziness, bluri-“ “-I know, I know, I feel fine.”

“You feel fine _now_.”  She goes to the freezer and puts a bag of frozen peas on my head, then puts my hand on it to keep it there. She points to Boomslang, “If he has any signs of TBI, let me know right away.”

Boomslang raises his mug of tea to her, “Of course, doctor.”

That mug was probably normal-sized, but it looked almost like a teacup in his hand.

“I’ll be in Mark’s old room if you need me. I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about.”

She left.

He looks over at me and frowns, “Good afternoon, Mr. Conway. I trust you are lucid enough to listen to reason for a change. Please, have a seat.”

“Don’t fucking patronize me.” I warn, sitting down.

Boomslang leans over the table and flicks my forehead with his enormous fingers, “Then don’t make rookie mistakes I can use to patronize you, Mr. Conway. You will find I am not as forgiving as Sawscale.”

“What’s your angle, Boom?” I realize I’m not likely to intimidate this giant of a man while I’m dressed in Mark Jackson’s hand-me-downs with a bag of frozen peas on my head, but I can at least try.

He sips his tea slowly and I want to shove it in his face. He sets the mug down before replying, “I’d like to extend a truce.”

I laugh, “Yeah, right.”

His lip twitches and his jaw sets, “This lifestyle we share, this job, is all about teamwork and compromise. I had to work with Coachwhip to save Sawscale when Diamondback rose from the dead in Agua Dulce. I had to work with Death Adder to save my own life. I have to work with Diamondback to escape the mess we’re all in. I have to compromise with Dr. Rooke to save your reckless life, and now I’ll need to compromise with you.”

“I fucking owe you. That’s the only reason why I’m even listening.”

“If Mark Jackson can get those charges against him dropped, he has legal claim to half of Rooke’s assets and all of Lucena.”

“Why does ISHTAR care?”

“It’d go a long way to rebuilding our organization.”

“Rebuilding it?”

“You and Diamondback both came very close to destroying the organization. Having Jackson in our pocket would help immensely to repair the damage.”

“Mark’s already working for Intex, if he gets Lucena back, then he’ll be able to roll right over Rooke.”

“You’ve got it.”

“So, where’s Mark Jackson? I need to talk to him.”

“Not a good idea, mate. Cascavel and Copperhead are with him.”

“Those two agents that attacked me?”

“Cascavel is the punk biker and Copperhead is the blond Aussie. They’re both new and untrained.”  

“Then I have nothing to worry about.”

“They’re just doing their jobs, Conway. Cut them some slack.”

“This will be a learning experience for them, then.”

“You know how much you sound like Coachwhip, right now?”

I look up at him.

“Don’t let the ISHTAR agents have you acting just as crazy as them. It’s how they get you.  It’s how they got Diamondback and Sawscale. I’ll report anything I find to you, all right?”

I suppose it would be normal for him to want to protect those two. That doesn’t mean I have to agree with it.

“Where are your loyalties, Boomslang? Are they with ISHTAR, or your old partner?”

I hit him right where it hurt. Boomslang’s eyes go wide and he looks like he’s about to give me another concussion, “Murdering Coachwhip has put us both in it and you may have unintentionally murdered Sawscale and put Diamondback right back in the mess he was in originally.”

Somehow, he had made this my fault. We are already off to a great start.

“Diamondback?”

“-, Hightower, Diamondback, whatever.” - It bothers me that Boomslang knows his real name- “Oh, and by the way, Agent Diamondback is now _Field Liaison_ Diamondback. He’s returned to her in exchange for Sawscale’s life.”

And he could hit me right back.

I feel sick and I don’t think it’s the TBI. It would have hurt less if he’d actually punched me. I push the frozen peas to my forehead and struggle to breathe; my vision starts to tunnel, “Oh…fuck….Where’s Sawscale?”

I’m practically begging him.

Boomslang stares in wonder, realizing that he should have found a better way to phrase incredibly bad news.

“Oh, Christ, mate, my apologizes,…remember to breathe, try to stay calm….” He leans over me and puts his hands on my shoulders. I shove him away violently and he steps back, raising his hands.

It takes me a minute, but I finally get my heart under control and my breathing normal, “Where’s Sawscale?”

Boomslang shakes his head, “No, I’m not telling you. You don’t need to know. Death Adder will literally torture the information out of you and I’m not risking it.”

And just like that, my heart is racing again. I’ I snarl, “Fuck you! You want to fucking help me, then fucking help!”

Boomslang gets in my face, the panic starting to rise in his voice, _“I am helping you!_ But I have to help Sawscale, too. The less people that know, the better. I will not risk their life for you or _anybody_. You do not need to know. When you need to know, you will know. _Savvy_?”

“Fine.” I say as I try to get a hold of myself, my heart is fluttering, “If High-eh, Diamondback returned to save Saw, why isn’t Sawscale with you?”

Boomslang gets a mug from the cabinet, pours some tea, and sets it down in front of me. I start adding sugar.

“Diamondback let them escape.”

The idea is too terrible to think about, so I push it out of my mind. If I was going to help either one of them, I had to keep a clear head, “Why are you calling him that?”

Not that his name is Hightower either.

“For clarity. Ms. Hightower is Death Adder, remember? We don’t use real names. Period.”

Oh, yeah, I’d forgotten.

“Fair enough….” Maybe referring to him as Diamondback would make the worst possible scenario easier for me. Probably not.

“Death Adder has special feelings toward Sawscale and myself considering what we did. She’s watching me like a hawk for any signs of deception.”

“Then how are you even working for her?”

“Death Adder reveres her enemies and can’t afford to be picky at the moment, considering the purge she sent Diamondback on. I’m one of the last of the old guard. She’ll take Sawscale back, too, if Saw were to apologize and swear loyalty to Death Adder again.”

So, ISHTAR doesn’t have Sawscale. That’s one weight off my mind. I look down at the floor, “Once you kill for them, they fucking own you. Sawscale isn’t going to repent.”

“No, they are not. The question isn’t going to be whether Sawscale gets ‘reconditioned’ by Death Adder, it’s how ugly they’ll be when she’s done. I don’t want that and neither do you.”

Boomslang and I could probably work together, but it wasn’t going to be easy. He’s blaming me for everything and I already want to kill him.

“You’re more loyal to Sawscale than to your bosses?” I don’t think he’s trying to trap me, unless he’s saving my life for Death Adder to toy with.

“Sawscale’s life is more important to me than whatever professional rivalry you think we share. Remember, I was formerly on the winning side of that operation.”

If he wanted me dead, he could’ve just let me drown in a ditch. I did think it was odd for him to be in league with the woman he helped kill, but he was still one of them.

And it paid to be cautious.

“I’m guessing you have a plan?”

“Sawscale appears to have one, but I’m not sure what they’re up to.”

“You’re talking to Sawscale?”

“Sawscale is talking to me, not so much the other way around. It’s not safe.”

“If there’s no cross-talk, we’re not going to get shit done.”

“At the same time, we need to protect our operations. If one of us is compromised, it can’t lead to the rest of us getting burned, too.”

“We can’t give information we don’t have.”

“Exactly. I’ll tell Sawscale I made contact with you and see what they want to do.”

“I can probably set something up,” I said, “a secure VPN. Nobody can talk without permission from me…but I need my computer to do it.”

“I’ll do my best to keep the other agents off you, but you might be on your own for the computer. I can’t get it without setting off serious alarms.”

“I’m not much help without it.”

“Not entirely true. Do what you normally do for now, just accept any jobs myself of Sawscale sets up for you. I’ll do the same for any jobs you post for me.”

“You’re going to use your codename for this?”

“Of course, I don’t know you like that.”

“Isn’t that going to let ISHTAR see what you’re doing?”

“Maybe, but it’s the best we have for now. Don’t expect too much from me, I’ll probably have to go through Sawscale.”

He stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“I need cover as to why I’m here. Since I’m babysitting Mark Jacskson, it would make sense for me to see Rooke to recover a few of this things.” He points to me, “And I’m serious. Try to keep murders to a minimum. There’s only one snake I want dead and she won’t go down as easily as those two.”

“Why do you want Death Adder, well, dead?”

He doesn’t look at me; he looks at the rain outside, “You weren’t there for the buildup, when Sawscale was sick with love. You weren’t there for the fallout when Diamondback turned on us. You didn’t have to deal with it. I did. After everything Sawscale’s done, were made to do, and went through, they’re still the most kindhearted, optimistic person I’ve ever met. They still believe that people are inherently good. I’m not going to let that change.”

“Is that why you saved me? Why you’d even consider working with me?”

“Any mate of Sawscale’s is a mate of mine. We are mates, aren’t we?”

That sounds like a threat, “For now.”

“You’re smarter than I thought.”

Boomslang leaves for the upstairs, comes back with a rolling suitcase, grabs his coat and leaves without another word. It’s still raining. He really needs a hat.

Mark the Doberman puts his head in my lap, whimpering up at me.  Rooke stands in the doorway, staring me dead in the eyes.

“I’ll give you fifteen thousand dollars a head for Death Adder and Jackson.”

I gently pat the dog’s head, “I’ll do it pro bono.”


	7. Acting

Diamondback is waiting for me at Mark’s apartment. Cascavel and Copperhead look repentant and avoid my gaze. Mark’s sitting at the table, looking uncomfortable.

“Where have you been?” Diamondback looks like he walked here; his clothes are soaked and his lips are blue. The still-fresh, not-yet-scar on his left hand is bleach-white. Even so, he’s wearing his dropshot and hat. He’s not shivering, so I’m wondering at what point hypothermia set in.

I hang my scarf and dropshot on the coatrack, asking, “What are you doing in those wet clothes on my furniture?”

He asks again, slowly, “Where? Have you been?”

“Rooke’s. Where else?” I push the luggage toward Mark, “Be glad she didn’t burn it all, mate.”

“Why were you at Rooke’s?”

“To get his stuff, Di.”

Mark opens the luggage, “Did she get my laptop?”

“She did; it’s probably bugged.”

Diamondback raises a hand to Mark, “Don’t turn it on until Sidewinder takes a look at it first.”

“Obviously.”

He turns his attention back to me, “I’ll ask again: Why were you at Rooke’s?”

“What do you want me to say? That I’m colluding with her or fucking her?” As I say this, I run my thumb along my neck, “maybe you want me say I’m with our old friend Conway figuring out a way to cut that scrawny little neck of yours?”

Cascavel and Copperhead look at each other, then back at me.

Diamondback tilts his head, pausing, “I’ll let the threat slide this time. Just know Addie and I are always watching you.”

“Then there’s no point in answering questions, is there? I’ve never been anything but honest, mate.”

I take Diamondback’s hat off his head and turn the sweatband out. He gives me that blank look that tells me he’s about a fraction of a second from trying to kill me. His fingers twitch. I set his hat on the table and hand his ID back without looking at it, “It’ll warp staying wet on your head like that. Seriously, your lips are blue. Get out of those wet clothes.”

He rubs his neck over his sweater. It’s not that cold out, despite the rain, so I’m wondering what he’s hiding, “I feel fine.”

“That’s hypothermia.”

Mark starts making coffee, “Please don’t freeze to death in my apartment. I really don’t want to explain how these bodies keep piling up around me.”

“See Di? Not even Mark’s afraid of someone without the sense to get out of wet clothes. If you’re planning on killing yourself, please do it in an apartment that’s not in my name.”

“A little rain never killed anybody. It takes at least six inches and only if they’re properly restrained. Anyway, while you’ve been off either plotting my downfall or collaborating with the enemy, Mr. Jackson here’s come up with a pretty good idea. Go ahead, Jackson.”

Jackson has some issues speaking confidently in front of hired killers, so he keeps it brief, “We stage a riot or two.”

“Come again?”

“We stage a riot. Get a flash mob going, maybe even hire some people to show up to protest the weapon’s ban, then send pushers in to get them violent. East Point PD would be overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Keep the subject on the high unemployment rate primarily, and maybe ransack a few shops since the owners can’t defend themselves except with maybe baseball bats.”

Copperhead whistles, “Surprisingly violent bastard, aren’t you?”

“Coffee’s ready.”

Diamondback stands and gets a cup for himself. He adds enough sugar and whitener it matches his skin. I used to give him shit for that. What’s the point in having coffee if you’re just going to drown the taste out with milk and sugar? It’s a sweet drink on its own, for Christ’s sake.

Everyone else takes their coffee black. It annoys him.

I tilt my head, “That kind of violence has a tendency to get out of control.”

Cascavel speaks, “I’ve done this before. The police can probably disperse the mob before it gets to that point if we back off quickly enough and don’t get trapped in the riot.”

Diamondback looked over at Copperhead, “Then I’m requiring dropshots and hypertrousers for everyone on the ground in case you have to make a quick getaway.”

Cascavel smiles, “No lethal weapons. If the police see lethal weapons in a riot, they’ll go for blood. Their goal in a riot situation is to disperse a crowd and round up anybody breaking the law and the leaders.”

“No lethal weapons.” Diamondback repeats. His cup starts to shake in his hands. The warm drink is warming him up and taking him out of the medical emergency he’s having, so he starts shivering and feeling the cold again.

Mark steeples his hands, “A few riots here and there might spark riots in other cities. From there, it’ll draw attention to an already sore national issue.”

Diamondback speaks, “I’ll try to get Sidewinder on the social media part of it. He has people for that sort of thing.”

“You all right, sir?” Copperhead puts his mug down.

“F-Fine.” The look on Diamondback’s face is wooden and hard. Even so, his jaw is shaking.

“You’re turning blue.”

Diamondback finally gets up and looks in the bathroom mirror, “Oh, shit.”

He storms over to my dropshot and puts it on over his own, “W-why didn’t you assholes tell me I was fr-freezing to death?!”

“Copperhead and I literally just told you!”

“Christ, now I feel like s-shit.” He’s shivering violently.

“Sit down before you fucking faint.” If anybody other than Diamondback had caught hypothermia, I’d gently sit them down and warm them up. In this case, I’d rather not touch Diamondback. He has a nasty tendency to lash out violently when touched and I like my fingers and nose unbroken.

Sawscale once told me he was a piano player with a gambling problem before he was a hitman. Gambler maybe, but I’m pretty sure they were just telling stories.

“Did you walk here, mate?” I asked.

Cascavel turns the heat on. Diamondback leans back, closing his eyes, “I had to meet a source before coming here.”

“A source? Care to share with the group?”

It takes him a moment to answer, “A crooked cop.”

“Right, well, I have source of my own to meet.” I look at Copperhead, “Get the man a blanket.”

“I’m fine now.” Diamondback tries to remove both coats, but I stop him.

“Keep it. You need it more than I do right now. You two make sure he doesn’t stand out in the rain and make himself sick, again. Will you?”

“Tan is not your color,” Diamondback mutters, wrapping himself in tighter in my coat.

“Tan is a classic, you prick.”

I grab an umbrella.

“If he gets any worse, one of you will have to share body heat. Any volunteers?”

Cascavel and Copperhead point to each other. Mark grins and raises his hand. I think he’s joking.

“If I get any worse, just divvy up my stuff and let me die. None of you better fucking touch me.”

Copperhead gives me this ‘What the fuck do you expect me to do?’ look, gesturing to Diamondback; Cascavel just shrugs helplessly.

 

* * *

 

 

I really need to rent a vehicle at some point while I’m here. Public transportation is irritating. Don’t people know it’s rude to stare?

I get off at the center of the city and walk a few blocks in the rain to the public library; a great imperial-style building. It’s closed, so I walk around to the back. I could just kick the doors off the hinges, but I restrain myself and pick the lock with my ID.

Libraries always smell wonderful and I really mean that. The place is old and in need of renovation, but the people working here have taken great care to maintain what they have.

I take off my coat and hang it in the breezeway, waiting. In the dark, I can see a tiny pinprick of light here and there. A greenish-blue glow in the dark that flicks in and out of existence and moves like some sort of faerie light. I’m looking for a different color entirely.

I walk slowly, with my hands clearly visible at all times. I get to the front desk when a cat appears out of nowhere to greet me, eyes glowing in the dark. That must have been the light. Judging by the girth of the neck, it’s a male. He meows expectantly. I kneel down against my better judgement to scratch him behind his ears. He starts to purr. His collar tells me his name is Dewey.

“Hey there, pretty. Got any other company present?”

Dewey shakes his magnificent mane at me and chirps, licking his lips.

“Sorry there, Mr. Dewey, I haven’t any treats on me. I’ll remember next time.”

A thin voice behind me says, “He’s a fat enough bastard as is.”

A twenty-stone, fully-grown, well-trained mercenary distracted by a cat.

I stand up slowly, raising my hands. It paid to be cautious. Small hands brush all over me, then they’re hugging me tight and I feel a body press into my back. I squeeze Sawscale’s hands, getting free and turning around. I have to bend down to hug them and they wrap their arms around my neck. They’re still wet from the rain; the cowboy hat is dripping.

For fun, I stand up and let go to let them dangle from my neck. They giggle, “I never got to squeeze you last I saw you.”

I put my arms back around them and carry them down the hall, “Where are we going?”

“Upstairs. There’s soundproof rooms up there for studying. You can put me down, you know. My legs work just fine.”

“Put you down? And let you catch cold for standing out in the rain? No, that would be cruel. I have to warm you with body heat. Haven’t you sense enough to come in from the rain?”

“I can’t be seen too many places, you know that. Public transportation’s crawling with spies and I tend to stand out.”

“Not like I stand out. How did you get here?”

“A cab I had to wait an hour for in the rain. I live clear across town.”

“You have a beddown?”

“I ain’t squatting in the library, Boom, I ain’t that poor.”

I pick a room at random and finally set them down. They seem content hugging me. I turn on a light.

Their new eyepatch bothers me. It reminds me of their irritating hobby of trusting the hopelessly guilty. I think they wear a patch to remind themself of that fact. Why not just have a glass eye?

They finally pull away, take off their hat and coat, sit down, take a bit of snus out of a can, and stick it in their lip. I didn’t like the snus, but at least they wouldn’t be spitting all over the place. Nasty habit. I sit next to them as they produce a pencil and notepad from their coat. Sewing extra pockets into my dropshot was a tip I’d learned from them.

“I’ve recruited Conway. For us. Not ISHTAR.”

They smile, “How you like him so far?”

“He’s brash, reckless, and hates me. He’s got good instincts but appears to hold grudges. He asks the right questions and I don’t think Death Adder will be able to turn him, even with Diamondback.”

“You best be careful, Boom. Rickie’s a charmer.”

“He shot me in the neck with an arrow.”

“To be fair, we were trying to kill him.”

“It does take a bit of shine out of his charm.”

“The police chief will be out of the hospital tomorrow. They have him under observation for now. My contacts in the police department tell me that ISHTAR is a hair away from being considered a criminal gang.”

“More like organized crime.”

“They the same thing in the criminal justice world.”  

“Speaking of criminals, Jackson plans on staging a few riots to get the public to notice what’s going on in East Point. Namely, the high unemployment rate.”

“And the lack of funding for East Point’s finest. Who’s in on it?”

“Di, myself, Cascavel, and Copperhead.”

“No others?”

“I’m sure Cottonmouth and Addie will join in on the fun.”

“Cotton will use remote-controlled detonators to cause trouble and he won’t even be in the area.”

“He can’t cause too much trouble, otherwise he’ll bring national assets right down on their heads.”

“How’s Di holding up?”

“Well, he almost let himself freeze to death until Copperhead said something. Said he was talking to someone, which somehow justifies staying out in the rain until he caught hypothermia.  He’s doing that disassociating thing. Just like when he was our enemy.”

Sawscale looks down at their hands, cursing under their breath, “Addie paying him special attention or does she have eyes for someone else?”

“Hard to tell right now, mate. She was paying Mark attention, but that could be a fling.”

“It’s too early to tell right now. Try to be nice to him. And not in that funny, mean way you always do. ”

“I’m always nice to Di.”  

They give me this look that’s incredibly concentrated through their one remaining eye, “Don’t fuck with him so much. You know how he hates being laughed at.”

“Oh, I know. That’s what makes it fun.”

“Cut it out.” Their voice turns sweet, “For me, sugar. You’re the only point of contact between me and him. I want him to remember who’s side he should be on, and not let ISHTAR’s money and anarchist charm turn him back into a hitman.”

“You mean he’s not one now?”

“Not if he don’t want to be.”

I sigh, lean back so I’m sitting upright, “Turn yourself back in.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Turn yourself back in and repent. Tell Death Adder you were a jealous, lovesick fool that wants to return. You are our only polygrapher and the best intel operative we have. She will take you back. Do a few jobs for her; let her trust you again and then you can do what you really want.”

“You accept food from Cottonmouth or something?!”

“No! Listen, you’re better at this than I am. You can get Diamondback on our side better than I can and you can act well enough that nobody will suspect a thing. I really don’t think I can do this.”

They say my real name, putting their hand on mine, shaking their head. I say theirs.

“I can’t pretend not to hate her, sugar. You know that if I even look at her, I’m a shoot her. And I can’t pretend that Di doesn’t has a way of getting my dander up. ISHTAR ruins people and makes them crazy. You the only one I’ve ever met that’s immune.”

“Not that immune.”

“Besides, she’d make me prove my loyalty all over again, considering what I did. She’d probably make me kill Conway.”

“Is that so bad?”

“Yes.”

“She didn’t make me kill anyone again.”

“She put you under control of our mutual friend that you hate.”

“I don’t hate Diamondback. Why does everyone think that? Seriously, I was as surprised by his betrayal as you were.  I thought we were friends.”

“Tell me about the new guys.”

“Copperhead and Cascavel? Untrained and spineless. They do as they’re told and can’t be trusted not to fold in front of the field liaisons. You’d think that between the two of them, they could come up with a way to cover for me and get rid of Diamondback, but no, they just let him right in.”

“Boom? Jesus and I love you. Everyone else thinks you’re an asshole.”


	8. I Predict a Riot

>   
> Mayfield: Riots  
> Help me find out what individuals are causing these riots.  
>  Pay: $500

You got it, Mayfield.

There’s consistently been a demonstration every day for the last week. Only until two days ago have the demonstrations turned violent. I’ve been spending most of my time at the library, using the public computers and basic sleuthing on social media to pinpoint the source of the riots. Whoever’s doing it knows their stuff; I can’t narrow anybody down.

That being said, we know who’s causing the riots. He just needs help finding people he can arrest. I start attending the demonstrations myself. I still have most of my equipment and my camera; I’m not that useless.

The rioters had picked the financial district for this riot.  It’s an absolutely gorgeous day; not too hot, almost no wind, and nothing but fluffy white cumulous clouds. The mirrored glass creates the illusion of endless sky; it’s quite catching.

And while I’d rather be doing anything but work, I focus on the ground.

The thing with riots is, they’re a lot like a forest fire; they need fuel and a spark. The fuel is easy: East Point is poor with high unemployment and all the wealth is concentrated within a handful of people. The spark? Well, I’m looking for the spark right now.

Boomslang fulfills his side of the truce. He tells me where the next riot is going to be.  I’m going to fulfill my side and keep him out of the photos. After all, I need him.

Yesterday, we met in the park besides the now full Lake Marie. In curious serendipity, we both bring bread for the ducks; we spent the afternoon feeding them.

“Here’s a bit of a tip: Cottonmouth prefers cell-phone initiated IEDs and plastic explosives.”

“What explosive does he use?”

“One of his own making. I’m no chemist, so I don’t know what’s in it.”

“Can you get me a sample?”

“Yes. I believe I can. That means that he doesn’t need to be anywhere near the riot if he has a spotter. That spotter is likely to be Copperhead, since he doesn’t have a dropshot or hypertrousers. Diamondback is requiring both for these riots for safety. Agent Cascavel is going to be on the ground, driving the riot, and I will be helping.”

“Is anybody else going to be there?”

“Agent Diamondback will be the maneuver commander for the operation. His job will be to keep control of us, and fill gaps as needed.”

He acts like I already consider him an enemy. I don’t.

I passed most of the information and the sample of explosive along to Mayfield.

Speaking of Mayfield, he just sent me a text to tell me the enforcers are already on the way and to stay out of the way. I’m watching the demonstration from the roof of an office building. Just like Boomslang said, Cascavel is in the street with a megaphone, shouting catchy slogans the crowd repeats. Her nightstick is hidden in the sleeve of her dropshot biker jacket.

Boomslang is further back, pretending to be caught up in her fervor. His voice, well, booms and bounces off the tall buildings. I find Copperhead catty-corner to me, standing on the roof of a bank. He looks nervous, likely because he wouldn’t survive a fall from this far up. We see each other and I tip my hat to him. He returns it.

If what Boomslang said was true, that my Hightower is here, he’ll be as high up as he can to keep control of his agents and move quickly to fill gaps. He’ll definitely see me.

I’ll let him decide what he wants to do about it.

For now, I take pictures and look for agents. I see some people supporting Cascavel as plants or pushers, trying to get the crowd heated up. Local news is here, giving coverage. That makes more obstacles for both them and I to avoid.  I get a message.

Anonymous: +1 746 535-3726 ext. 87 followed by #  
That’s the comms channel we’re using. Put yourself on mute and listen.  
Pay: $0

I call the number and an automated voice asks me which conference call I want. I dial the extension, then put my phone on mute. I put the earpiece Sawscale gave me in my ear and listen.

“-gents, this is Agent Diamondback.” His cold, flattened voice was a knife in my chest, “Be advised: enforcers are closing in via Proudmore Drive and Mason Street. They are going to block us in and try to funnel us into a gauntlet. Break.”

He paused, then spoke again, “Given the enemy situation, any agent not in full equipment is ordered to evacuate the area with exception to Agent Copperhead. Copperhead, hold position and maintain over watch until told otherwise. All agents check or hold in sequence. Over.”

“Agent Boomslang, check.”

“Agent Cascavel, check.”

“Agent Copperhead, check.”

“Agent Cottonmouth, check.”

“Agent Sidewinder, hold.”

“Go ahead, Agent Sidewinder.”

“The enemy currently considers possession of hypertrousers and or dropshots as probable cause for arrest. Break. If detained, agents will utilize emergency backstop and cooperate with authorities within backstop. Detained agents will be required to post bail and operate within the legal system under their assigned backstop. Break. This will strain our current legal assets and will be grounds for corrective actions. Over.”

“Good copy, Agent Sidewinder. All agents, check or hold in sequence, over.”

Boomslang was first, “Strain ISHTAR’s legal assets and I will strain you. Agent Boomslang, check.”

They all responded ‘check’ in apparent alphabetical order.

“Agent Diamondback, check check. There is a bounty of two hundred dollars for anybody bringing me a riot shield.”

Death Adder wasn’t in that conversation and at least one liaison deferred to Hightower. That means that she isn’t here.

I spot Cottonmouth signal Copperhead and duck into an alley. I manage to snap a picture of him. I snap pictures of Cascavel and Copperhead, too. I avoid Boomslang, as promised, and start looking around for Hightower. I start to debate as to whether or not to take his picture. Maybe a bit of jail time would do him good. Then I remember something about backstop and realize that ISHTAR already has a system in place to keep out of legal trouble.

Protection he won’t have if he turns again.

I can hear him directing Boomslang and Cascavel around. Copperhead is telling him what’s going on from what he sees. If Copperhead has to spot for Hightower, then he’s sitting in a blind spot. He can see Boomslang and Cascavel just fine, though, otherwise he couldn’t direct them. I start eliminating buildings.

A distant sound of marching boots echoing off the buildings breaks my concentration. I look for the source of the noise, but it’s everywhere. It’s getting louder, loud enough to drown out the sounds of the protest.

Copperhead: “All agents, be advised: there is a unit of East Point enforcers in full riot gear moving southbound on our position, break. Eight-man front, three deep, followed by an arrest team of seven individuals, followed by another unit of enforcers. Over.”

Hightower: “Good copy, Agent Copperhead.”

Boomslang: “Ditto on this side, Agent Diamondback. Same size, East Point enforcers, moving southbound.”

Hightower: “That’s the signal. Let’s give them a show.”

I go back to eliminating buildings. Too low, too far, no place to stand….I start to consider that he may be indoors.

“Uh, Di-bro?” It’s Cottonmouth.

Hightower sounds unamused, “Agent Cottonmouth.”

“Primary didn’t work; secondary didn’t work.”

Bombs. He’s talking about bombs.

“What do you mean?”

“I just tried setting them off, bro. Nothing.”

“What’s the fucking problem?”

The sound of boots is deafening. I look down the street to see the enforcers banging on their riot shields in time with their footfalls. The effect is absolutely terrifying. They stop about fifty meters from the protest. 

The first row has their shields out in front. The second has theirs at a forty-five degree angle, and the last has theirs directly above their heads. To the protestor’s credit, they don’t run. In fact, it only seems to egg them on. I’m actually impressed until I remember that these protestors are hired.

“The signal isn’t getting to the initiators, man. Either someone’s ta- _Oh, shit!_ ”

I hear dogs barking from the earpiece.

“Fucking _dogs, man_! Get the fuck away! Gotta go, bye!”

I make sure my phone is still on mute before I start laughing. That’ll teach Cottonmouth to blow up the police chief.

“Shit. All agents: Be advised, Cottonmouth is down. No pyrotechnics today. Find another way to liven things up.”

Someone takes the initiative and breaks a window. The crowd loses it. Mob mentality takes over and people are shattering windows left and right.

The enforcers refuse to take the bait; they stand firm, watching. People start to throw things at them. Aside from tightening their formations, they do nothing.  This isn’t the police force I was used to dealing with.

It isn’t until they start assaulting people does the first rank of enforcers rush forward. The second rank takes the forward position, lowering their shields. The third rank takes the second rank’s position behind them. The ranks open back up to allow people to escape. The enforcers start attacking people that are causing the trouble, using only their batons.

I keep snapping pictures and keeping an eye out for Hightower and Boomslang. He and Cascavel back off, avoiding enforcers as they see them and jumping into alleyways.

“Nice work, everyone.” Hightower sounds satisfied, “I’m going to see if I can’t get the enforcers to break ranks. They’ve brought their A game for a change.”

I finally see him, silhouetted against the sky.  I have no idea what I’m going to do, but I start hopping buildings to get to him. He has a grenade launcher used for riot control. I watch him load rounds labeled as CS gas canisters.

He jumps from the over watch position to a shorter building, to get an easier shot, presumably. We jump toward each other at the exact time.

He sails over me and I push him hard in the hip as I fly past. I stick on the wall as he tumbles to the roof. It stuns him for a second, then he’s on his feet, looking around. The color drains from his face when he sees me. I jump to meet him.

“What the fuck is CS gas?”

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” He grabs my collar and tries to yank me down, looking around nervously. I shove him away.

“I could ask you the same fucking thing.”

“There’s a fucking riot going on and the police are rolling up anybody with hypertrousers and dropshots. Get the fuck out of here!” He picks up the grenade launcher.

“I’m on a job right now! What the fuck are you doing working for ISHTAR?!”

“Are we really fucking doing this now?!”

“Yeah, we are!”

“It’s a god dammed mess down there and I’m responsible for it! I do not have time for this!” He racks the weapon and takes aim.

“Are you really working for these assholes again?! You’ve picked them over us?”

He turns to me, “I’ve _been_ working for these assholes, remember? It was Coachwhip and her flunkies I was fighting!”

Copperhead: “Uh, Agent Diamondback? Who are you talking to?”

Our faces burn with embarrassment.

“Mind your fucking business!” Hightower yells, I think he’s talking to Copperhead, turning back to the crowd, “Stay on target!”

I swear I hear Boomslang laughing. It’s hard to tell; I think he took his earpiece out.

“So, um, what’s CS gas?”

“Tear gas, basically,” he takes aim and fires into the impenetrable wall of cop. Before it even hits the ground, a flash of light catches it and makes a three-point landing in the street.  An enforcer is kneeling in front of the line, holding the gas canister, directing the gas toward the protestors. If tear gas bothers them, they don’t show it. In fact, as they stand up, they wave it all around, breathing deep.

The enforcer is smaller than most, wearing aviator sunglasses and hypertrousers under their armor. They have a riot shield in their right hand and the gas canister in their left. His face blanches and he covers his mouth.

Taking a deep breath, he recovers, points back with his free hand, and then runs his thumb under his chin.

Everything stops as the enforcers get their gas masks on, closing ranks while they take their attention off the crowd. The enforcer throws the canister into the crowd. Cascavel kicks it back, behind the line, coughing. It doesn’t affect the now-masked police.

“Looks like we have a Dirty Harry situation on our hands.” I hear Cascavel say over the channel.

Hightower’s face is one of absolute despair as he gets on the radio, “Break! Break! Break! That’s not an enforcer, you idiots! That’s Agent Sawscale!”

“One riot, one ranger.” I remark to myself, squeezing Sawscale’s badge. Hightower gives me a dirty look.

The enforcers close ranks and go back to beating their shields with their batons. From behind them, the police launch more gas into the crowd.

The result is spectacular; the crowd loses their collective minds and start running everywhere. The line of enforcers open up to allow the arrest teams to get past and start arresting people.

Cascavel jumps at Sawscale, nightstick out. Sawscale catches it with their own, kicks Cascavel in the knee, sweeps her leg, and then brings their baton down. Cascavel blocks it, then kicks Sawscale away with her hypertrousers. Sawscale lands on their feet just as Cascavel gets to hers. Sawscale says something, tipping their new police hat. Whatever it was, it got Cascavel angry, because she shouts back, ”At least I’m not some traitor nark!”

Sawscale says something else, drawing their baton and twirling it.

“Cas!” Hightower shouts into his earpiece, “Break it off, you don’t stand a chance!”

“I can’t!” She shouts back, “He’s not letting me move!”

It was true. Wherever Cascavel jumped, Sawscale was right on top of her, knocking her off walls or roofs with the riot shield.  That’s where Jackalopes had Klipspringers beat; Jackalopes were speedy and could maneuver on a dime.  Even with the heavy armor, Sawscale blocked every exit. Cas had to fight her own way out. To her credit, every time Sawscale blocked an exit, Cas lands on her feet (Klipspringers were handy here) and tried to get a hit in with the nightstick.

Cascavel manages to crack the shield. Sooner or later, that shield or Sawscale’s arm was going to give.

“How the fuck is Sawscale working for the police department?!” Hightower asks right before he jumps off the roof to help Cascavel.

She finally gets a hit in, catching Sawscale in the leg. They go down on one knee, bringing up their shield. Using the hypertrousers, she smashes the shield into Sawscale, bringing them to the ground. Sawscale uses their own trousers to jump into Cascavel, slamming her with the shield. Apparently, it stuns her or knocks her out, because Cascavel doesn’t move.

Sawscale rolls her over to cuff her, but Hightower jumps onto their shield, knocking them away.  He gets between Cascavel and Sawscale. Sawscale slowly gets to their feet, raising their baton.

Hightower brings his hands up, “Sawscale! How the fuck are you-?!” “-What you just call me!?”

They’re loud enough for me to pick up on both Cascavel’s and Hightower’s earpieces.

They swing at him with the nightstick, “What’s my fucking name?!”

Sawscale looks like a textbook example of police brutality. They charge Hightower with the baton and shield, swinging every which way.

Hightower dodges Sawscale’s attacks or blocks with the hushcrackers. He’s trying to restrain them and manages to twist them into a full nelson. All that does is make Sawscale hyperjump into a wall to knock him off.

“My name ain’t Sawscale!” They sound completely out of their mind. The few times I can see their face in all the chaos, there’s that maniacal grin suggesting all the violence ISHTAR agents were known for.

Hightower barely manages to avoid getting his head split open and realizes Sawscale isn’t going down without a fight. He gets between Sawscale and their shield and throws them into the pavement, going for their handcuffs. They hyperjump and kick away from him. The two of them land on their feet and Sawscale charges again.

“My daddy didn’t name me ‘Sawscale’!” They bring the nightstick across Hightower, who blocks it with a hushcracker, grabbing it.

He shouts their real name. Sawscale drops the shield to grab Hightower’s collar and yanks him in close.

They snarl into the earpiece, “I am going to free the _shit_ out of you.”

I was so focused on the fight that I didn’t notice Boomslang grab Sawscale and throw them into the wall of police, who grab them and pull them behind the shields. Boomslang grabs Cascavel and jumps over to Copperhead, who gets started on first aid. There was so much power in the jump I thought he might have a different color of bullfrogs.

Hightower jumps back to the roof I’m on, picking up the grenade launcher. His face and hands are bloodied and he’s out of breath.

“Sawscale forgets that if it weren’t for Death Adder, they’d be coyote shit somewhere outside of Juarez right now,” he pants.

“At what point will they have paid her back?” I ask. I pull out the earpiece; I don’t need it.

“How much is _your_ life worth? We died and she brought us back.”

“You have no fucking clue how crazy you are, do you?”

He looks me dead in the eyes, “Take the fucking name, Conway.”

“I’m not dead,” he’s too exhausted to stop me, so I grab our hats and switch them, “and neither are you.”

“Hey!” He almost goes for his hat, but stops, looking back at the riot he has to control.

“This is just an observation, but you seemed a lot happier with me.”

“Give me my hat back, Conway.” He growls at me; I don’t find him intimidating.

“Bad guys don’t get good guy hats.” I remind him.

“If anybody’s the fucking villain here, it’s me!”

The tide is turning to the police; he’s lost. I don’t leave him stewing for long; I switch our hats back. I can’t imagine wearing my fedora will get him many points with his employers.

I tip my magnificent fedora to him, shaking my head, “You’re the damsel in distress.”

I jump off the roof.


	9. Chapter 9

We regroup at The Pink Elephant. I tell Conway to stay away.

“Where the fuck was Cottonmouth?” Diamondback asks, holding a bag of frozen strawberries to his forehead. He’s sitting at the piano, leaning on it, trying not to drown in his own nosebleed.

Copperhead and Cascavel are sitting together at a table, hats off. They try not to look, but I think they’re amazed to see their leader bleed. Little do they know, Diamondback bleeds all the time; keeping blood _in_ his veins is the trick.

I’m at the bar, helping myself to the vodka for cleaning up wounds. The look Sawscale gave me when I threw them back into the police still stings worse than the bloodied knuckles I have.

I couldn’t risk Sawscale actually hurting Diamondback or killing Cascavel. In that uniform, they were a different person; I need to ask them about that. Containing insanity has become my secondary job.  

“I’m sorry,” Cascavel starts, “that got out of hand fast. Agent Sawscale is no fucking joke.”

“You guys did great.” Diamondback sits up, “We got what we wanted; mission accomplished.”

That complement meant the world to them. They both smile bashfully.

Copperhead stares at his hat, “Why does it feel like we lost?”

“That was the idea.” Diamondback pulls out a fat wad of cash from his pocket, “Get the police to seriously rough us up and look like the evil minions of the one percent. We can thank Sawscale for help on that.”

He starts passing out our pay for the mission.

He hands me my share, then gives me and Cascavel another two hundred, “And two hundred for Sawscale’s riot shield.”  

“Always a pleasure.” I smile.

Copperhead counts out his pay, then pockets it, “How the fuck does an ISHTAR agent toss her lot in with law enforcement?”

“Her? I thought Sawscale was a man.”

“A cop with long hair? Female.”

“You’re _both_ wrong,” Diamondback corrects them, “Sawscale has no gender.”

“Wait, what?” Cascavel asks.

Diamondback continues, “Agent Sawscale used to be an El Paso cop and a Texas Ranger. It’s all a matter of Police Chief Mayfield calling their police academy and getting transcripts.”

“That’s an option?” Cascavel asks.

“If they got in under ISHTAR rules, then that’s impossible.” Copperhead points out, “They have to commit a murder, then vanish. If -I don’t know, Austin?- finds out a suspect in a cold case is still alive, old Sawscale is going to be _in_ handcuffs, not wielding them.”

“Wait, sir, go back.” Cascavel looks like her mind has expanded exponentially.

Diamondback looks away, pointing to Copperhead, “You’re right, that is really fucking weird. I’m going to look into the circumstances of their recruitment, see if they found a way to get around it.”

Cascavel raises her hands, “Nobody wants to talk about this?”

I ask, “Getting around a murder, mate? Those aren’t generally write-offs. Who was the target?”

“I don’t know. They never told me.”

Sawscale never told me, either. I’ve personally never talked about the initiation. It’s deeply personal and I’ve never known any agent to talk about theirs. But Diamondback is a field liaison, he could find out.

Diamondback sighs, “So, it’s official, Agent Sawscale is a traitor. Betraying us to the police, though? That’s cold.”

I raise a hand, “But not entirely unexpected.  If they were law enforcement before, going back to what they know wouldn’t be out of the question.”

Cascavel shrugs, resigned to the fact nobody wants to discuss gender studies, “Credit where credit is due, though, that was pretty fucking cool, catching a grenade midair.”

Cottonmouth kicks the door open. The light blinds us.

 _“I have the keys,_ Cotton; I can open the door! Where the fuck were you?!” Diamondback demands.

“We got a fucking rat, man.” Cottonmouth drops his backpack in a chair and sits down.

“What are you talking about?!”

“They had bomb techs there, man. They set the fucking dogs on me!” He shows us his leg, which is bandaged with a towel and duct tape, “I think they jammed the cellphones and disabled the bombs.”

“How’d they find them?”

“They knew where the bombs were.”

“Jamming cellphones during a protest? That’s illegal.” I mutter.

“No, the phones worked fine, since they were ringing. I went over to check it out and the bomb squad was waiting for me.”

“With dogs.”

“With fucking dogs, man.”

Damned dogs.

“Okay, well, Sawscale’s on their side.” He counts out Cottonmouth’s pay and hands it over.

I take a swig of desperately needed vodka. I pass it along to keep my cover.

“That’s not what I’m talking about, man. If Saw had the police jam me, that’d be one thing, but I could talk, so they jammed the phones on the bombs. I made them after Saw left, so they wouldn’t have that information. Someone must have given it to them or some other cop.”

Diamondback points to Copperhead, “You were closest to the bombs, how what your reception?”

“Fine.”

“They knew which numbers to block man, it wasn’t a mass jamming. They’d be in a world of shit if they did that and know it. They fucking knew. We got a rat.”

Diamondback rubs his neck, “Yeah. I guess we do. Now what?”

“I’m telling Addie.”

Diamondback gets this look of terror in his face and almost says something, but stops.

I ask, “What will Addie do?”

Cottonmouth smiles, shrugging, “Best way to get rid of a rat is to smoke ‘em out, man. Time to turn up the heat. Personally, I’m nominating the Sawcousin for lethal targeting; the rat won’t like that.”

He’s right. I don’t.

Cottonmouth points to Diamondback, “And Di?”

“Yes, Cotton?”

“I get that you’re new to this whole liaison thing, but next time, don’t debrief the enemy. Conway’s still not one of us.”

Diamondback blushes and pushes his hat down over his face.

Cottonmouth’s words sound like a warning. If Sawscale gets the memo, he can narrow the rat down to the people in the room. I already know he has two suspects. Diamondback and I glance at each other, then look away.

I have to handle this very carefully.

I might need Conway for this.

 

* * *

 

 

I meet him at the zoo, specifically, the reptile house. I’m standing in front of my namesake, the world’s most notorious colubrid, all clad in green and black.

“Hello, cousin.” I tell it. It regards me coolly; just a giant thing, not edible and mostly nonthreatening.

“Boomslangs are really pretty.” Conway remarks.

“Thank you.”

“The snakes, I mean.”

“Sawscale’s been nominated for lethal targeting. It’s likely to pass.”

“You mean, they’re really going to kill them?”

“Yes. Since our only two operations liaisons are Cottonmouth and Diamondback….”

“Would he really…?”

“I don’t know. He protected them last time.”

“And this time?”

“There’s not much he can do. I doubt he’ll directly oppose Death Adder. She’s got this…way about her; it’s hard to explain.”

“We need to circle the wagons and hide Sawscale elsewhere, where they can’t get to them or find them. I can bet that my Hightower can find them if he really wants to.”

“I can run interference on my end, but I’m getting close to being burned. Cottonmouth suspects me.”

“You’re not getting soft on me, are you?”

“No! Of course not. But don’t confront Diamondback next time. You got him to more or less debrief you and we heard it over the channel from his side.”

“Then Cottonmouth probably suspects him more than you. We could potentially get him in a lot of trouble.”

“I’m not trying to get him in more trouble. He has his reputation to protect him, but that’ll only go so far.”

“Tell me about Mark Jackson. How’s he doing?”

“He’s doing a lot of the legal footwork for me, considering I still have ISHTAR operations to do. This would’ve been easier if Coachwhip was still alive; she was our resident lawyer prior to her death.”

“Thank God for small blessings.”

“Hey, you have contacts in the police department, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“See if you can find out how the fuck Sawscale can work for the police department; trust me, it should be impossible.”

“Yeah, that was weird. Sawscale’s never acted like that around me before.”

“Me neither. See if you can get something on that; Saw probably won’t tell us directly.”

“And keep me posted on the legal proceedings; I have Rooke to answer to.”

“Of course.”

“Are you heading the charge on that?”

“Behind the scenes I am. Someone found a legal team that will work with us. He’s likely to get exonerated and whoever tampered with the evidence is the one likely to be behind bars. Rooke may have even more problems.”

Conway gets this look on his face like he’s having a terrible thought.

“You’re the one that tampered with the evidence, aren’t you?”

“…Yes.”

“Oh, mate….” I shake my head.

“I got to go. There’s something I need to take care of.”

He vanishes.

 

* * *

 

>   
> Sidewinder: Come by the race track  
> I have some forensic evidence that might be useful to the Jackson case.  
> Pay: $99

And here I was hoping for the evening off, maybe get some of my burning questions from Sawscale answered. I stop by the racetrack and walk into the stables. The horses greet me and I pat their heads. I enter an old office we use as a cover and stand behind the desk. I insert my ID into the card reader on the keyboard and type in my PIN. The bookcase behind me rolls to one side, revealing a door.

I walk down the stairs to our secure offices, where an ocean of cables in a rainbow of colors dares me to trip on them.

The place is nearly silent save for furious typing and the sound of computers running. Occasionally, I hear someone stand up and walk around.

Not everyone who works for ISHTAR is an agent named after a snake. The quiet men and women here only have numbers and work for contracts lasting a year. Those that see me avert their eyes, as they’ve been told. They are the analysts and they handle everything from setting up false identities for agents to running detailed analysis on information from the field to legitimate missions of our legal variety. They only know our codenames and only what missions concern them. In turn, I know almost nothing about them.

ISHTAR wouldn’t exist without them, but that doesn’t mean we give them any respect.

I find Sidewinder in his office, next to the entrance. He waves me in, “ _Salaam Ailaykum.”_

_“Mulaykum Salaam.”_

We chat a bit in Farsi; I tell him how the mission went, he tells me about his day. We drink tea and discuss Persian poetry. I never intended to become a specialist in Southwestern Asia; it just sort of happened. I used to have a lot of clients from the area, before everything went to shit and Coachwhip had to save me.

Death Adder helped, but her assistance was minimal compared to her troublemaking.

Copperhead, the last one, smiles at me from a framed photograph on the wall. Sidewinder decorated the frame with roses. A little girl is also smiling at me from a man’s arms in a photograph on Sidewinder’s desk. I don’t recognize the man, but the little girl looks familiar.

“Cottonmouth said he was nominating Sawscale for lethal targeting.”

“He did. Diamondback, Death Adder, and I voted against it.”

“You still believe in them?”

“I’ve always believed in Sawscale. However, I do not believe they will return. If we give them Diamondback, they will leave us alone, I am sure.”

“If they’re not going to return, brother, why didn’t you nominate them?”

“I do not want Sawscale dead; they are a very honorable person. They do not deserve to be hunted down like an animal and shot in the streets. If they are to die, they will do so either from old age or in battle.”

“And if we have another Diamondback situation on our hands and they come for you?”

Without missing a beat, he smiles gently and says, “Then they will die in battle.”

“Is that a cousin?” I point to the man and girl.

“No, that is my father.”

“And the little girl?”

“That is me.”

It takes me a second to understand, “Oh, I see it now. The eyes.”

“My face would be similar, if not for the beard.” He smiles and almost laughs, tugging on it.

“You said you had evidence for the Jackson case?”

“Yes.” He slides a package toward me. A disk wrapped in a paper envelope, “Give this to Death Adder. It is all proof the evidence is doctored.”

“I see. Well, I’d better get going; I don’t’ want to walk in on her too late in the day.”

He nods to me.

 

* * *

 

 

The door to her office is open and Diamondback is sitting on a stool beside Death Adder, shirtless, while she is retouching his tattoos. The colors are so bright, fresh on his skin, they look unreal. The marks are as shiny as burn scars.

She remodeled her office since Coachwhip had it; the furniture was black leather and dark woods. Countering the severity are a few cutesy knick-knacks, a vase of flowers, bottles of tattoo ink, and packages of needles. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of children’s drawings papered her walls.

It’s the drawings that make this place disturbing.

Diamondback’s eyes are following them, looking at crudely-drawn smiling suns and people holding hands. I think he’s as unnerved by them as I am.

“I need to think of a design for this.” She taps the bullet scar on his chest. The badly-healed one.

“The scar won’t take ink, I don’t think.” His voice is dark and low.

“No, probably not. I’ll have to design around it. But it looks incomplete, standing there by itself. It kind of looks like a star.” The tattoo gun in her hand rattles and buzzes, “Maybe a constellation? Not your sign, though. Maybe Ladon or Ophiuchus?”

“Do you plan on tattooing every inch of me?”

“No…No, that’d look weird. Besides, the gut area tends to distort as you age.”

“I’m not worried about old age.”

“You are pretty young.”

“I don’t think I’ll live to see thirty.”

The remark was so surprising I actually recoiled. Not the dying young part, but the under thirty part. Sawscale and I are closer to forty than thirty.

In this line of work, people got to know their coworkers far better than anybody else. I could point out most of the agents in the dark by their walk; I’d know their handwriting anywhere. I pretty much know every line in Diamondback’s face. If he’s not currently the youngest agent we have, he may very well have been at some point. What happened that caused him to age so fast?

“Sure you will; you’re a liaison now.” One of the causes assures him, “Once we get our numbers back, you’ll be able to opt out of doing missions personally. I need a trainer for the new guys and it seems like Sawscale isn’t coming back, so you could do it.”

“I guess. I don’t think I’m a good teacher.”

“I think you’ll do fine.”

“Excuse me, ma’am? I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” I interrupt.

“Care for a tattoo, Boom?” She doesn’t look at me, she’s focused on the rattlesnake. Drops of blood bead up from Diamondback’s skin as she moves the needle across it. She laps it up gently. Diamondback doesn’t quite glare at me; he looks drugged by endorphins or something else, but he definitely gives me a look.

“Um, No, thank you, ma’am. This came from Sidewinder. Said it has to do with the Jackson case.”

“Leave it on my desk.”

I do so, then back out of the room with my eyes on the floor.


	10. Blood and Honey

 

I call Rooke in the underground and tell her what Boomslang told me.

“All right, I’m giving you a mission. You know what to do.”

She hangs up and a minute later, I get a mission.

> Rooke: Destroy that Evidence
> 
> I cannot stress enough how much that evidence needs to disappear.
> 
> Pay: $1000

I’m back at Intex as soon as they’re closed, well aware that I’m in enemy territory. My crosslink doesn’t show any agents, but they probably all have clean sneaks anyway, so I wouldn’t know unless they were right on top of me. Likewise, they won’t see me unless I’m right in front of them.

The place is pitch black, as if there’s nobody on guard duty. I’m suspicious. I break in from the top, via the skylight and ease down the wall, waiting for a guard or something. Nobody.

Whoever designed this office gets an A+ in architecture from me. The glass floors are pretty damned cool. Not conducive to wearing a skirt, but still pretty cool.

I kick off the ceiling to break through one of the floors.

I’ve been here before, so I sort of remember what to do. I don’t see any guards or professionals; it was if they’d all taken the night off or something.

In the dark I see a strange light. It was only for a second, then it was gone. It reminded me of how light reflected in the eyes of cats and dogs. I keep my hand on my pistol. I am taking exactly no chances.

I keep on the wall so I can see any points of entry for someone with hypertrousers and a grudge and quickly duck into the stairwell.

An arm crosses into my field of vision from behind, wrapping around my neck. Another arm snaked across my waist. A foot sweeps my legs out from under me and my assailant and I are on the ground.

“Miss me, Rickie?” A thin voice, sweeter than pecan pie, asks.

“Sawscale!” I almost yell, “You scared the hell out of me!”

“Sorry, not sorry!”

“I’m on a mission!”

Their head is against mine and both of our hats had fallen off, “This here is a _mission-essential_ hug.”

I try every exit, but Sawscale’s hug was more of a restraining judo move. I think they learned it during their stint as law enforcement.

“…Can I hug you back?” I finally ask. They relent, letting me go. I sit up and pull them into a hug they return. My ribs crack and the air forced itself from my lungs, but my chest withstand the assault. I notice their eyes are closed.

I squeeze them tight, “What the fuck, Saw? You played right into their hands, attacking Cascavel and Hightower like that.” I don’t call him that, since it was only the two of us, but I’m still not about to use real names. You know who I mean.

“I know that, Rick.”

“Why?”

“Too caught up in the role, I guess.” They rub my back apologetically.  They keep their bad eye shut until they pull their eyepatch back over it, making me wonder why it was even off in the first place. I stared at it; brown leather with a marigold carved in to match their bolo tie.

“Didn’t you used to be a cop?”

“I’m not the meanest cop that ever was, you know. There’s been worse.”

I pull away to look them in the face, “Like who? The gestapo?”

They looked away, “I was in a _really_ bad way back then.”

I try to lighten the mood, “Fucking Texas.”

Sawscale smiles painfully, “Fucking Texas.”

I stand up and help Sawscale to their feet. We put out hats back on.

“Boomslang told me you’re being nominated for lethal targeting.”

They let out a low and cruel chuckle, “Don’t bother me, none.”

“And if they send Diamondback on you?” I ask.

“He ain’t foolish enough to do that.”

Bad blood from fresh wounds wells up between them.

“He turned on you once.”

“I got a plan.”

I let go and we sat there on the floor, “What?”

“I got a diamondback of my own, don’t I?”

 _Ugh,_ I don’t want that label stuck to me, but I play along, “Am I the eastern kind or the western kind?”

“Eastern. _Crotalus adamanteus. ‘Adamanteus’_ means ‘hard, diamond-like, or steely’.”

“I am feeling anything but right now.”

“Let’s get that evidence of you tampering with evidence deleted, then. You got your clean sneak?”

“Yeah?”

“Good, that means we won’t have to get the evidence of you tampering with the evidence of you tampering with the evidence.”

That statement makes my brain hurt.

We pull each other to our feet and walk down the stairs together.         

“Where are all the guards?” I ask as I kick down a door. Sawscale gives me a disapproving look.

“I paid them not to show up and to tell their buddies they got beat up by a chick in a long black coat, blue hypertrousers, and a very bubbly disposition if anybody asks. No sense beating people up if you don’t have to.”

 Sawscale crosslinked a light switch to the camera, then flipped the switch, turning the camera off. I followed suit with the second one.

“You work for the police department? How?”

“I don’t. I work for Mayfield, now. It’s pretty easy to hide a rat in a police department known for corruption.”

No time like the present to ask about it, “Saw, what happened?! How is ISHTAR still…?”

“Causing trouble? Cotton invited us over to talk it out. He didn’t tell us that…Death Adder was back.” I think they almost said her real name. If ISHTAR didn’t use real names (period), how would they know?

“Well, you don’t tell people about your ace. Are you okay?”

I jump onto the ledge and climb along the ceiling, then pull myself up. Sawscale doesn’t have the upper body strength I do, so it takes them a little longer. I help them onto the ledge.

They sighed, “Appreciate it. And yeah…I think I’ll be okay. It’s him I’m worried about. He was about to move on when she showed back up. Should’ve known Cotton’s neutral attitude was bullshit.  Just goes you never can tell, even with friendly stoners.”

“Friendly?”

“He is…to his friends.” Sawscale explained, “the thing is with Cotton, is that he’s usually real chill. By ISHTAR standards.”

I think about him bowling with me the night we met.

“Last thing you want is an excitable bomb maker. Anyway, he’s one of the original agents, got to pick his codename and everything, so we assumed the leader position defaulted to him. We tried to get him to read us off, but he said he couldn’t do it.”

“How can he make you do anything you don’t want to do?” I ask as I silently break the window and then loudly kick down the door, “You’d just do a shit job or get your cover blown. You could go to another agenc-“Sawscale cut me off, “Have you ever hear the expression ‘We can’t make you do anything but make you wish you had’?”

“No?”

“Well, ISHTAR sort of embodies that.”

“And they wanted him back, too?”

They nodded, “He was doing it for her, remember?  Anyway, you don’t throw away valuable human resources.”

“Once you kill for them, they fucking own you.” I muse under my breath.

“You got it.”

“Now they have him back.”

“In a way, they’ve always had him. He distracted her with a meltdown while I turned tail and ran. I was expecting him to follow me later, but I guess not.”

We step into the elevator and go down.

The overt hostility is over between those two (for now), but the resentment lingers. There _is_ hope; assuming Hightower returns to us, that the wall between them could come down, brick by brick, but it would take time.

I give them a disbelieving look, “You’ve known him how long?”

 The door opens and I saw the door to the office is also open.

Sawscale wasn’t paying attention; they had looked away, “Time was, I didn’t think he’d do a lot of things. Love has a way of blinding you, Rick. I’m sure you understand.”

A female speaks, “I’m sure he does.”

Death Adder is leaning against the desk, smiling.

Sawscale immediately draws their pistol, aiming. Funny, they still draw right-handed, despite having only a left eye.  Not that eye dominance really matters within twenty feet or so.

“Hold it, Saw.” I hold my hand out. Sawscale is fuming.

Death Adder closes one eye and frames us with her index fingers and thumbs, “You guys look so cute!”

She clicks her tongue at them, waltzing over and swishing her hips, “Losing your touch, I see. You can trail people like a bloodhound, but don’t notice when someone’s got the drop on you? Sloppy, sloppy.”

Sawscale bares their teeth, “I’m going to find out how you escaped my notice. And it won’t happen again.”

They shake their head, “Nevermind, just figured it out. You had Cottonmouth running interference to keep Coachwhip, -and by extension, me- off you and Di’s trail. That’s how he was able to keep it up so long.”

Cottonmouth was her inside man. He probably helped her survive getting shot seven times in the chest.

“Why are you sniping my missions, Death Adder?” I ask, folding my arms.

“Because this is my town. If you don’t work for me, you work for nobody.”

“So, you’ve declared war on East Point Free Agency?”

“That’s not entirely possible, since that agency is more of an umbrella for freelance agents like yourself. They just set qualification standards.”

“East Point isn’t the hot bed it used to be. Are you a spy or a gangster?”

“Can’t I be both?” She steps toward me and I back away slowly, reflexively reaching for my pistol. I hear Sawscale cock theirs.

“Relax…I’m not unreasonable. I’m trying to help.”

“Help?!” The two of us yell in unison.

“Saw, get real. You can’t beat us on your own and I need another liaison. We’re still short a trainer and you’re the best we have.”

“I _was_ the best you had.”

“Is this about Di?”

She hit a nerve. Sawscale turned from her, shaking her head. They spat on the floor before they pointed their pistol at her, starting to yell, “No, bitch! It ain’t about Di, it’s about _you!”_

“Watch where you’re pointing that!”

“You and your damned _Jesus complex,_ you think you know what’s best for people and you just force it on them!”

That escalated quickly.

“Saw!” I stepped between them, hugging them tight. They hug me back, but they keep their eye on Death Adder.

“Oh, Sawscale….” Death Adder’s voice took a gentle turn, “It just wasn’t working out between us….”

I’m on the ground, reeling, when Sawscale tackled Adder to the floor, punching and screaming. They had forgotten they had a damned pistol in their hand and just dropped it.

Before I can even consider what to do, Sawscale is airborne, flying into a wall. They kick off and charge her again, screaming. She laughs this off, ducking and dodging out of her way. She barely moves to conserve energy and beat Sawscale by attrition.

I need to get to the terminal.

The door behind me is knocked off its hinges and knocks me to the ground. Someone is pinning me down with the door.

Cascavel is cackling to herself.  I see Copperhead try to grab Sawscale from behind. They have a knife waiting for him. He catches it across the arm, grabs Sawscale’s wrist and holds them open for Death Adder. Sawscale takes no chances and jumps into Adder, Copperhead in tow.

They jump away and do this little two-step at them, grinning.

The two of them got to their feet. Copperhead draws a hunting knife, “I’m going cut this bitch!”

“What’d you call me?!” Sawscale gave him this unbelieving look, showing all their teeth.

If I was going to throw any insult at Sawscale, it wouldn’t be a gendered one. That just sounds like a really terrible idea.

Death Adder lets out this long groan and slaps her forehead, “Oh, Copperhead…pretty much any other insult would have been preferable.”

“It really would have been.” Sawscale nods. Then they charge him with the knife. Copperhead blocks with the blunt edge of his own and Sawscale kicks him in the chest, sending him flying.

Sawscale pins Copperhead to the wall and drags the knife across his face, between his eyes. He screams. I don’t have to see their face to know they’re smiling. The slight shake to their shoulders lets me know they’re chuckling.

Death Adder is right on top of them with a butterfly knife. Saw barely manages to get away with only a shallow cut across the face.  Their eyepatch falls to the ground. Copperhead is holding his face and screaming. Cascavel runs to him and I get to my feet.

I finally get to see what Sawscale was hiding under the eyepatch. It’s a solid black sphere in place of an eye.

“Yeesh!” Death Adder and I wince at it in unison.

“You can see out of that eye, can’t you?” she asks.

“Sure can.” From my perspective, all I see is the black eye, not their natural one.

“You should really consider a more natural prosthetic, Saw, that thing’s hideous.”

“Well, you won’t have to look at it much longer.”

I draw my pistol and Death Adder forgets Sawscale to attack me; she kicks it out of my hand and tries to stab me. I block with my hand. Bad idea.

My hand feels cold and numb. I look at it see she’s driven the knife completely through my palm. I grip the knife and pull it out of her hand. I keep hold of it to prevent her from getting it back.

While I’m distracted, she headbutts me to the ground. I pull out the knife as Cascavel is suddenly on top of me in a flash of purple light, pinning me. We wrestle on the ground while Sawscale comes to my rescue, attacking Death Adder.

Copperhead comes to Death Adder’s and grabs Sawscale’s arm, twisting it behind them and driving them to the ground.

Cascavel gets me in a full nelson and hyperjumps me to the ceiling, then slams me to the ground. She keeps my legs crossed and hers out, planted.

Death Adder calls someone on her mobile, “We got them.”

The elevator light comes on.

I already know who it is and my stomach sinks.

Hightower walks in like the lead in a Bogart movie. He’s in one of his moods, or lack thereof, completely disassociated. He doesn’t seem to notice either myself or Sawscale.

“Both Conway and Sawscale, alive and well, just like you asked, Di.”

The blank look on his face turned pained for a second. Then he corrected himself.

I growl from the floor, “What’s your angle, Diamondback?”

He winced again, but doesn’t look at me.

Adder is smiling, showing off her surprisingly sharp teeth, “But….”

He tilts his head to hang on her every word.

“They’re still refusing us and they know too much. What do you want to do?”

He holds up his hands as if pleading with her, but his face doesn’t change, “I just need more time. I can reason with them.”

“The hell you can!” Sawscale screams from the ground.

Hightower turns to yell at Sawscale, his voice is desperate, “Saw! Just fucking listen to me for a change!”

“I got an idea.” Death Adder says, “You need to prove you aren’t the rat anyway.”

He turns back to her.

“Diamondback, break one of Sawscale’s arms. That’ll take some of the fire out of them.”

Before Hightower can react, Sawscale yells, “Do your own dirty work!”

“I can do that.” Death Adder replies simply.  She walks over to Sawscale, who struggles under Copperhead.

“Keep their arm straight.”

With effort, Copperhead keeps his knee in Sawscale’s back and twists their arm straight by the wrist.

Sawscale snarls, “You best kill me now, because the second I get the chance, you’re dead.”

Death Adder smiles wide, “I know.”

She brings her leg up in an ax kick, hypertrousers and gatecrashers glowing.

I can’t watch. I hear a sickening crack and Sawscale screaming. Hightower’s holding his ears, eyes shut tight.

Cascavel can’t look either, she’s loosened her grip on me and I jump toward Adder.

I am completely prepared to kill her.

She kicks me out of the air and I go flying into Hightower, taking us both to the ground.

He hisses at me, “Run, you idiot.”

I put my hat back on, “Fuck you.”

I jump for her again. She spins out of the way and catches me across the side with a knife hidden in her sleeve.

I stumble into the wall and my side is soaked in blood. She cut right through the dropshot.

She is smiling wide and does a few fancy tricks with her butterfly knife.

I jumped away from her, but she was on me almost instantly. I catch her wrist and kick her leg out. She sweeps my leg as she falls and we’re both on the ground. I pin her and start punching. She rolls us and stabs me right in the shoulder. I howl, but keep my head enough to hyperjump her into the ceiling. We land on our feet together. She licks the blood from her nose.

“You ever let Sawscale tie you up?” She asks, completely out of the blue, eyes wide with excitement.

“What are you talking about?!” I ask.

She’s breathing hard, “I’m usually a dom myself, but damn!” She shakes her head, “It’s really exciting. They have a gift.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cascavel approach me.  Copperhead’s left Sawscale whimpering on the floor. I’m bleeding badly. There was no way in hell I could take all three on.

And I can’t be sure Hightower won’t side with them. I know he won’t side with me. He’s at the terminal, typing for whatever reason.

I do the only thing I can. I take the fucking coward’s way out.

I feign at her and she parries. I catch her arm and throw her into Copperhead.

And I fucking run. I duck into the elevator, get to the second story, kick down two doors and I’m running.

I jump along rooftops randomly until I’m sure I’ve lost them, then I fall to my knees, trying to keep myself under control. I need to get to Rooke. Now.

Instead, I light up a cigarette, staring up at the starless sky of East Point. I get a message on my mobile and I check it. It tells me my mission’s complete. A+. The money’s already in the bank.

My eyes burn and blur with tears.

I send a message on the number I’m sure he’s not using anymore.

 

> Conway: Pick a Goddamned Side and Stick with It.
> 
> Here’s the dramatic ultimatum to your fucked up harlequin romance. Either you’re with Death Adder or you’re with me. Coward.
> 
> Pay: $0 

 

He actually messages me back, “You left Sawscale behind and I’m the coward? Funny. You’re welcome for completing your mission, by the way.”

I bite back a scream and choke.

“Who’s fucking side are you on anyway!?”

“Mine. Sawscale will be fine. I’ve already informed Boomslang. Get a hold of him. I know you two are talking.”

He disconnected.

I throw my hat on the ground in frustration and anger. It takes me a second, but then I notice something.

Wrong hat.


	11. Year of the Cat

I schedule an emergency meeting with Conway. He’s an absolute mess. I’m not doing too well myself, having just watched Sawscale get their arm reset and casted. They refused drugs. Sidewinder’s taking care of them now, under the racetrack.

The second Conway sees me, he tries to attack me. I grab his wrists and hold them to his shoulders and let him scream at me until he falls to his knees in exhaustion. I have to carry him to Rooke’s and let him cry it out in my arms like he’s my girlfriend or something.

“What did you do before you joined them?” he asks me on the bus, leaning on me.

It’s hard to talk about after years of it being forbidden, but I eventually tell him, “Lawyer. Immigration, mostly. Most of my clients were Middle Eastern. Immigration lawyers don’t make much money.”

“How’d you mess up?”

I almost laugh; he knew how it worked, “I embezzled a lot of money from a bogus charity that was funneling money to criminals and extremists. They were understandably upset with me.”

“How much?”

“Five million pounds.”

He smiles sadly, sniffing, staring out the window. Finally, he says, “Damn, I should have studied law instead.”

I actually laugh at that.

Sawscale always said I was nicer than I let on. Load of bollocks if you ask me. I’m a twenty-stone, grown man that hurts people for a living. They were the heart of Team Black, not I.

When we get to Rooke’s, she quietly cleans out his wounds. No stitches this time.  He’s mostly quiet for the better part of an hour while she works. Strange, let him cry it out and he’s fine, like it never happened. I finally notice he’s wearing Diamondback’s hat.

“Now what?” Rooke finally asks.

“Nothing’s changed.” I say.

“Everything’s changed.” Conway snaps.

“No.” I snap right back, “Diamondback’s right. Sawscale’s life isn’t in danger as of right now. Recruiting from enemies is just their way.”

“Is there any chance they could turn?” Rooke asks.

“There’s always a chance of that, but I believe it to be low. Sawscale still has me. It’s more likely Sawscale will start trying to turn other agents. They are quite good at it.”

“Not good enough to turn Diamondback against Death Adder either time they tried.” Conway chokes bitterly, “And yet, he’s the suspected rat.”

“Exactly. I can’t speak for the group, but I have no plans on changing that.”

“Yeah, let him take the fallout for this.”

Rooke speaks, pointing to Conway, then to me, “Conway, you said he knows you’re-“ She nods to me, “-the rat. Why hasn’t he done anything about it?”    

“I think he’s debating on what to do about it. Or save that information for a rainy day.” I say.

“Or he’s secretly on our side.” Conway mutters.

“Sawscale would probably try to run the both of us as spies and not tell the other one. But we’d best not try to bring him in on this. Even if he’s working for Saw on the side, there was a reason they had the two of us talking, not you and Diamondback.”

“I’m not letting him become a factor in this. There’s nothing to say he’s not a double agent, trying to hedge his bets.”

“Or he’s being turned by Death Adder and trying to run interference. If he tries that on me, I can probably turn it back on him. He’s not as clever as he likes to imagine.”

“Speaking of cleverness, I’d like you to do something for me, Conway.”

“I’m not running any more missions tonight.”

“No, not that. I need you to make a few investments for me in your name.”

He looks up at her, “I don’t have much liquid assets.”

“No, not with your money. With mine. I’m going to pay you for a few bogus missions to the tune of about fifty-thousand dollars apiece. You’re going to buy as many Rooke, Intex, and Lucena stocks as you possibly can as fast as you can. Buy up as much Lucena stock first, then Rooke, then Intex.”

“Those are all private companies.”

“Rooke and Lucena are going public next week. Intex will probably follow suite.”

“Won’t me buying a shitload of stock in weapons look really suspicious?”

“You’re not the only one I’m tasking to do this.” She nods to Boomslang, “And you’ll be making investments in other companies that aren’t involved with this to cover our tracks. I’ll be buying everything off you two soon enough.”

 

* * *

 

 

The first person to try and interrogate Sawscale is Copperhead. We’re in the covert operations cell under the racetrack, strictly Sidewinder’s territory. Death Adder thought it would be good practice for the new guys.

Sawscale was our best hunter; Death Adder just wants to see Sawscale talk circles around them.

She’s sitting beside me in the room, watching Sawscale and Copperhead in the interrogation room through the false mirror. Diamondback is beside her; his eyes are reddened and he hasn’t said much. He just keeps sipping his water. He’s wearing Conway’s hat.

I’ll need to check up on him as soon as we’re done.

Cascavel is next to me, preoccupied with something. She keeps staring at Sawscale, watching that eye. I’m about to ask her what she’s doing when she suddenly gets up, picks up her chair, and moves to sit beside Diamondback. The entire time, she never took her eyes off Sawscale.

Copperhead is nervous, the new gash across his face has only just stopped bleeding and he’s got to convince the person that put it there it’s a good idea to betray their ideals and give information. The same person he held down while their arm got broken. It’s reset and in a sling now; Death Adder made sure of it. She still thinks she can get Sawscale back; so she doesn’t want to damage the merchandise, so to speak.

I don’t know where she’s getting this confidence.

Copperhead goes first, staring into Sawscale’s artificial eye, “It was nothing personal, really, holding you down like that. Just business. I’m sure you understand.”

Sawscale looks stern, yet polite, “I understand completely, hoss. Just business.”

Now that they’re together, I can see how much they look alike.  Copperhead is bigger and more masculine, naturally, and his eyes are blue, but they could almost be siblings, or at least cousins. I think it’s the hair.

“I’m sorry I called you a bitch. That’s…apparently not done here.”

“You work for a woman, hoss. You have transgendered people in the organization. For all of its flaws, ISHTAR is very inclusive. Here’s some advice from one snake to another: If you’re going to insult someone, insult their actions, not their person.”

“Who’s transgender?”

“Relationships between agents aren’t forbidden, just strongly discouraged. Take it from me, hoss: it’s not a good idea.”

“I’m not following.”

”Unless you plan on sleeping with any of them, it’s not your business. Don’t bring up height, weight, age, gender, sexual orientation, national origin, race, or creed. It’s not fair and detracts from shit you could call attention to. For example, if I was going to insult you, I’d bring up the fact you put a guy with hypertrousers in a full nelson and was surprised when you got elbow dropped into the pavement.”

Diamondback and I smile.

Copperhead bristles while Sawscale smiles, “That was insulting and I didn’t even bring up shit you can’t help.”

Diamondback speaks, “Copperhead is getting eaten alive in there.”

“Want to step in?” Death Adder asks.

“No. I could use some entertainment.”

Copperhead’s blown rapport, so he just goes into questioning, “How were you working for the police department? If you’re one of us-“ “-I ain’t-“ “-If you’re one of us, that should be impossible.”

“It is.”

Copperhead waits for an answer, but Sawscale doesn’t elaborate.

He frowns, “You know, as an NGO, we’re not subject to the Geneva Conventions, right?”

“I am aware.”

“I don’t have to be nice to you.”

“Then don’t.”

“You’re pretty damned mouthy for someone that got their arm broken and sitting in an interrogation booth with someone that wouldn’t mind breaking your other arm.”

Sawscale sneers and leans forward, “I’ve done this far longer than you seem to think; I know what you can and can’t do. Make my day, hoss.” They wink at him.

“You think Diamondback or Death Adder will help you?”

“You think they’ll help _you?_ Death Adder wants me back as a field liaison. And shit rolls downhill, so I wouldn’t try injuring or insulting a potential future boss of yours.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“That’s your misfortune. Anyway, information gained from torture is unreliable. It plain don’t work. Try asking something non-pertinent and start a conversation based on my response so that we can establish a friendly bond that will make me more inclined to talking to you. We have plenty in common if you know where to look.”

Diamondback and I are starting to laugh. Death Adder is snickering. Cascavel is preoccupied with Sawscale’s eye. She pulls out a marker and draws on her hand. I can’t see what it is, since she’s drawing in UV ink.

“Who’s supplying you with information on our operations?”

Sawscale leans back, eyebrows raised, “You got a rat in your organization? And you don’t know who it is?”

Copperhead realizes that he just gave Sawscale information, or at least confirmed intelligence for them. He’s getting flustered, “You tell me.”

“I’m a bargaining chip, high speed, not a potential source of information. You have no way of knowing if I’m talking to a double agent or if I’m just using what I already know as a former agent to accurately guess what your organization is going to do next. Try again.”

“Oh, that _is it!”_ Copperhead swings at Sawscale over the table. Sawscale dips out of the way, catches his elbow with their wrist, twists his arm, and slams him onto the table. All with one arm. He struggles, but can’t move with his arm twisted like it is. Sawscale keeps him pinned by the elbow with their forearm.

Cascavel and Diamondback leave the room to go help Copperhead.

Sawscale smiles and casts a sidelong glance at the mirror, licking their teeth. Somehow, they manage to look Death Adder right in the eyes.

I can see that greenish sheen that almost looks like an iris.

Diamondback forcefully puts Sawscale back in their chair. Cascavel leads Copperhead out of the room, then sits down in front of Saw. Diamondback leaves without a word.

“So…,” Cascavel starts, putting her hands on the table.

Sawscale glances at her right hand, the one she drew on, then looks back at them, “Howdy.”

“Hi. I’m Cascavel.” She offers her hand.

Sawscale takes it, “You can call me Sawscale, I suppose.”

“Um, I’ve been meaning to ask you a question.”

“This is an interrogation.”

“Diamondback said you have no gender.”

“Oh, Lord, I was wondering when someone was going to bring that up.”

“How do you not have a gender?”

“You are confusing gender with sex. Sex is biological. Gender is social. Two different things.”

“Okay…So, you keep your sex a secret and just…opted out?”

Sawscale nods, “Think of it like a spectrum. If males are blue and females are red, that doesn’t make every color between purple. Let me give you some homework, sugar, write these terms down and look them up.”

Sawscale starts to talk about gender in an animated, though not unfriendly, way. Cascavel asks questions, though mostly irrelevant ones. Sawscale segues from one topic to another easily, avoiding topics of intelligence value.

Cascavel probably thinks she’s breaking Sawscale and turning them back; she couldn’t be more wrong. Sawscale’s charms have a way of making you lose your way, getting you turned around. Copperhead saw an enemy, so that’s how they presented themselves. Cascavel sees a mentor, so Sawscale is mentoring. Cascavel won’t walk out of that booth with anything we don’t already know, but Sawscale’s probably going to walk out with another potential rat.

Death Adder and Sawscale are more alike than either one likes to admit.

Diamondback remarks, “Saw’s going to turn Cas.”

Death Adder smiles, “Away from the gender binary or away from us?”

“Probably both.”

Death Adder stands up, stretching, “Maybe I should take care of this….”

Diamondback looks up at her, “Sawscale’s not going to talk.”

“I know. But I have to save Cascavel, don’t I?”

She enters the booth and the illusion evaporates. Sawscale glares at Death Adder. Cascavel looks behind her, well aware of the sudden hostility in the air.

“I’ll take it from here, Cas.”

“Um, okay…It was really nice talking to you, Sawscale.”

Sawscale gives her this heart-melting smile, nodding, “Take care, sugar.”

Cascavel runs off, blushing.

Death Adder pulls the table back and sits on it so that there’s nothing between them, “Seducing my agents again, I see.”

“I’m merely enlightening her.”

“That’s what makes you a good trainer. C’mon, I was going to promote you before your…heh, episode and subsequent betrayal.”

Sawscale sucks their teeth and turns their head, “Like I was ever on your side in the first place. You even had me paired up with Diamondback so he could spy on me.”

“I thought you two would make a good match. I wasn’t wrong. He did return to me the second I needed him again. But, this isn’t about Diamondback, it’s about you.”

“What about me?”

“Don’t say you were never on my side, Saw. It hurts when you say things like that.” She’s slowly inching into Sawscale’s personal space.

Sawscale leans back into the chair, frowning. Their mouth stays shut.

Death Adder manages to place her hand on Sawscale’s cheek, “Who found you stifling in that fake identity and set you free?”

“Out of the kindness of your heart, I’m sure. You had a damned funny way of going about it.”

“You’re too stubborn for conventional methods.” She sits in their lap, folding her long legs behind Sawscale’s back, “But I couldn’t leave you to suffer like that; I had to help. It’s in my nature.”

Sawscale suddenly reaches behind her and grabs a fistful of hair, yanking back hard so that Death Adder’s neck is exposed. Sawscale’s within centimeters of it, breathing through their teeth.

Diamondback gasps, eyes going wide.

Death Adder can’t contain her smile, “ _Ooh,_ Sheriff! Long time no see!”

Sawscale’s voice drops almost a full octave, “I have not, nor have I ever been, elected sheriff of anywhere.”

Like magic, my perspective of them suddenly shifts and their overall presentation says ‘male’. I know it’s not true, but Sawscale has a way of playing tricks like that.

Sawscale bites into Death Adder’s neck, drawing blood. She shivers and smiles wide, digging her nails into Sawscale’s back. My stomach turns and I get up, walking out.

I don’t like seeing Sawscale like that.

 

* * *

 

 

I get back to Intex as soon as I can to get started on Rooke’s job, buying up shares in companies that have nothing to do with East Point or weapons. She was very peculiar on what she wanted me to buy; I’m going off a list. I’m interrupted by Diamondback and Death Adder entering the floor.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“What the fuck, Addie? Sawscale? Really?”

“Oh, I know that tone. C’mon, Di. It’s just business.”

“They’re the enemy!”

They don’t know I’m here. I peek through the door.

“And that’s why you were watching the entire time? In case you felt the need to step in?”

His voice is dark and dangerous, “What are you talking about?”

Death Adder gives this condescending smile, “Jeeze, Di, even Cascavel noticed. That’s why she moved around. To see if Sawscale’s prosthetic can see infrared, because they kept tracking the movement behind the glass. She drew the transgendered sign on her hand to see if Sawscale noticed it. They did.”

Bang on, Cascavel. Talk about a stopped clock moment.

Diamondback’s face turns white, “They could tell I was there.”

Death Adder just nods, “Yeah. Pretty good show, though, right?”

Diamondback cocks his open hand back as if he’s going to slap her, but stops himself.  

“That’s it. I’m fucking out of here. I’m done.” He starts heading toward the door, “That is too fucked up to be real.”

“Leave?! Where are you going to go? To go be with Conway? Like he’ll put up with half of what I put up with for you. What’ll you do for a living without me to protect you?”

“I can’t do this anymore. I can take the job Rooke offered me.”

Addie gets in front of him and laughs right in his face, “And be a normie?!”

“What’s so bad about that?”

She lets out this peal of obnoxious laughter, “What the fuck do you have in common with them, huh? What are you going to talk about around the water cooler? You going to tell them about that time you ripped a man’s throat out with your teeth? Yeah, they’ll appreciate that!”

“I can walk away! War vets do it all the fucking time.”

“Is that going to be your cover story? You’re some spec ops war vet? You’ll have the PTSD to match once the monotony sets in and there’s nobody around to talk to!” She spreads her arms, “This isn’t the kind of shit you move on from, Di!”

“I can live a normal life if I wanted.”

This is awkward as fuck.

“And that’s the kicker! You don’t want to; you’ll get bored. Their little travesties will be trivial to you. You won’t be able to relate. Any personal life experiences you talk about will get you arrested or put in a fucking asylum because you’re a fucking maniac and you know it!”

Diamondback suddenly loses it, “I am not fucking crazy! You make me like this!”

Very true. They go on like this, unaware of my existence. Diamondback gets angrier and angrier, folding in on himself. Death Adder smells blood and dances around the kill, playing with him. She shoots down his arguments with practiced ease. They’re the same arguments everyone that wants to leave say.

“You can wash all the blood off your hands but your mind is forever fucking stained! You’ll never pass out there; they’ll mark you out like that!” She snaps his fingers in his face.

“The ones that matter won’t.”

I want to step in, but conflict is interwoven into their relationship. I don’t want to interrupt what might be normal and expected of them.

“And you’re going to burden them with your presence when you can’t sleep at night, trying to tell yourself there’s no such thing as ghosts?” Diamondback looks away for a second and our eyes meet. The look he gives me is completely novel coming from him. He’s asking for help.

Okay, enough is enough. I approach Di, thinking of some business I could use to get him away from her.

“Yeah, go ahead and leave; I’m kind of curious to see how long it takes for you to come back. You blew your chance at a normal life when you shot Mar-!” I didn’t even see his hand move, but I heard the hard slap and Death Adder was on the ground, holding her face. His hand is still raised and his furious face turns stunned, as if he couldn’t believe he actually hit her.

Training takes over and I clear the distance between us, get one arm under his and grab his opposite shoulder, then pull him into a hug. I’m taller, so I lean back and get his heels off the ground so he can’t jump away or kick me effectively. He’s so emotionally raw right now he actually screams when he feels my hands on him and tries to wrench away like I’m on fire. The smell of alcohol on his breath nearly knocks me on my arse.

I’ve seen Sawscale break up fights before, so I know to turn around so that he’s not facing Death Adder.

I’m not Sawscale, however, so Diamondback keeps trying to wrestle away from me. He’s getting panicked the more he fights. I feel Death Adder’s gaze on me, so I carry him to his office and dump him on the couch. He’s hyperventilating and turns away from me immediately, hiding his face in his hands.

“Sorry, Di, but I had to, I swear to Christ I had to.”

“The fuck’s wrong with me?! I didn’t used to be like this….”

Death Adder’s leaning in the doorway, dropshot and hat removed, so she looks very small, despite being nearly as tall as Cottonmouth.  
  
Her voice is soft and hurt. It breaks as she says, “I’m just trying to protect you.”

He can’t face her; his voice is small and weak, “I am so sorry….”

She sulks off.

I want to tell him that it’s a trap. That it’s a calculated move on her part to gaslight him, but she’ll just turn it around on me if I do.

“When did you start drinking?” I ask.

“I haven’t stopped.” He drinks from his water bottle again. I snatch it out of his hands, finish the vodka, and then throw it away. I manage to keep my face straight and maintain eye contact while I do this.

And with no warning whatsoever, he throws himself out the window and vanishes into the night. 


	12. Up the Ante

I’m using my mobile to buy up stock, just like Rooke told me. She has me going off a list and I don’t deviate a penny. It occurred to me that I could steal it, but I genuinely like Rooke and I don’t want to fuck her over.

Not that I’d fuck her over even if I didn’t like her.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a figure on the roof of the Rooke office. I’m paranoid because of the other agents, so I grab my dropshot and Hightower’s hat. I’ve been keeping the resolver in my coat ever since Death Adder walked into my life.

The figure leans back and I can almost hear the sound of the hypertrousers charging. Red. Hightower.

“I’m ready this time, asshole.” I mutter to myself. More like I choke, since there’s this lump in my throat and my eyes are starting to tear again. If he wants to break my window, it’ll be one more thing for me to take out of his ass; he’s been more trouble than he’s worth, lately.

He jumps, but not toward me. He sails out of my view and shatters the window to his apartment. I can see the glass rain down with the deafening crash.   
_  
He has hushcrackers, why didn’t he-?_ I hear him pooch the landing and fall, rolling.

Silence.

_Oh, God, he’s fucked up, isn’t he?_

I walk to my door.

 _Richard, you are_ not _about to check on him, are you?_

I walk down the hall.

_Richard, you know he doesn’t do fucked up things to be mean, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t do fucked up things!_

I walk up the stairs.

_He sent Death Adder on you and did nothing while Sawscale got their arm broken and you got the shit kicked out of you by his fucked-up agent friends._

I walk down the hall.

_Okay, first scenario: he has a fucking trap set up for you. Second scenario: he’s a broken wreck on the floor and won’t leave you alone once he sees you._

I kick open the door.

_He’s an emotionally manipulative bastard that strings you along. Don’t forget that._

A rough gravelly voice speaks from the floor, “Hey, Conway, I brought your hat back. I didn’t want to break your window, so I just broke mine.”

He takes it off and sort of throws it at me. It rolls along the brim for a bit and stops at my feet.

_Okay. Scenario two it is._

“Why didn’t you knock on my door like a normal person?”

“Because I’m an idiot with springy legs.”

“You’re a walking disaster is what you are.” I step over my hat and grab the lapels of his coat, pulling him to his feet. His knees thankfully lock out so he’s standing.

“I know.” I put his hat back on his head and he smashes it down over his eyes.

“I’m not just talking about your drinking, you know that, right?” I pull his hip into mine as he wraps his arms around my neck. He has a hard time keeping his feet under him with the glass sliding around.

“Yes.”

The alcohol on his breath and skin is making me dizzy. I brush the glass off his coat and lead him to the mattress he keeps on the floor. Next to the katana.  I push him down onto it and grab the sword. Best not to let him have anything sharp. Where does he keep the broom?

“How much have you had?”  I find the broom and start sweeping for whatever reason. I’m about to call Rooke and ask for advice on alcohol poisoning.

“I don’t remember.” He slurs, “I watched Sawscale fuck Death Adder. Right across the desk.”

I stop sweeping to stare at him.

The idea that those two had a positive relationship at any point baffles me. Those two having a physical relationship based on mutual hate is equally horrifying.

“You…Why would you watch something like that?”

“Because I’m a terrible person.”

“No, you’re not.” I say gently, getting back to sweeping. Despite everything, I think I actually believe that.

I reach down to the floor and put my hat back on. After all, he went to the trouble of getting it back to me.

“I got in a fight with Addie.”

_Good!_

“I hit her.”

_Even better!_

“So….what’s the problem?”

He covers his face with the palms of his hands, “You don’t hit people you care about, Conway, what the hell!?”

I give a disgusted sigh.

His eyes go wide and he reaches for me, “I’m really sorry for all the times I hit you, I didn’t mean it, I swear.”

“Get some sleep; you’re drunk.” Glass swept up, I turn to walk back to my apartment, but he grabs my wrist, trying to yank me back.

“What?” I ask. It comes old colder than I intended.

A sociopathic thought occurs to me: _You could probably beat him to death with the broom. It’s solid wood._

I push it out of my mind and set the broom against the wall.

“If you take the codename, you can be with me and Sawscale. I’m a liaison, so I can keep us all together. You won’t have to worry about money….I know you’re struggling.”

I try to get my hand back, but he holds on. I tell him, “Even if I was going to join the sneeple, I wouldn’t pick the _only_ nonvenomous snake in the lineup.”

He smiles, “Sne-? Oh, snake people. Heh, that’s funny.”

“Anyway, Death Adder made it pretty clear she’s not sharing. And I’m not about to share with her.”

“She won’t notice; I’m old news. She’s only interested until you like her back, then she doesn’t care.”

“Why do you even put up with that?”

“Because I’m chicken-shit. It was fun for a while; earning her affection, now it’s just exhausting. I can only up the ante so much.”

“…Where’s Sawscale?”

“Horse racetrack.”

“Are they really safe?”

“I wouldn’t let anything happen to Sawscale.” I don’t believe him.

He starts laughing. Not nastily or anything, like he remembered something funny, “Oh, man, you should have been there. Sawscale completely mindfucked Copperhead and Cascavel. It was hilarious.”

“…And you’re sure they’re safe?”

The smile fades, “Addie likes them more right now.”

“Than you?”

“Than me.”

“Is that why you’re here? Want to make her jealous?”

Oh, God, that came out completely fucked up. I really didn’t mean it that way, I swear.

Hightower blushes, “No! I just wanted to make sure you were okay after that mission. I didn’t set it up, I swear. I just told her I didn’t want either one of your hurt over this.”

He’s the one in an abusive relationship with a dangerous psychopath and he feels the need to make sure _I’m_ okay.

_Intentionally or not, he’s pretty abusive himself, you know._

It occurs to me that she’s using him as a dangle to get both Sawscale and myself to join in. As long as she maintains control of Diamondback/Hightower, she can always use him as leverage.

He’s a gun to my head.

He yanks me back hard and I fall on him. He clings to me like he’s drowning and I can’t wrestle him away; I’ll just have to wait for him to either let go on his own or pass out. He lets go with one arm to push something into my hands, “Here, do something really nasty with this.”

I look at it. It’s an agent ID. No picture, just what I assume is the ISHTAR logo, a magnetic strip, and a chip. There’s a little sticky note on it, “Ed31We15S”

Edelweiss?

“It’s Coachwhip’s agent ID. Addie doesn’t know I recovered it.”

“I keep telling you I don’t want to be Coachwhip.”

“She was a liaison; it’ll get you into any restricted area controlled by ISHTAR. Like under the racetrack, behind the bookcase. Just log into the computer at the desk.”

“This is actually…really useful. Thank you.”

“I would have given it to you sooner, or given it to Boomslang to give to you, but I’m too chicken-shit to defy her sober.”

“You’re the bravest guy I know.” I give him a hug. I don’t mean anything sexual by it, I just feel like he could really use one. He hugs me tight, hiding his face in my neck.

He starts shaking, “I’ve really missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

I hear the creaking of hypertrousers charging. I push Hightower away, put my back to the wall, and draw my pistol.

Boomslang enters in a flash of green, skidding on the wooden floor.

He turns to me, “Oh, thank god, you found him.”

My pistol is still drawn. I try to swallow the lump in my throat.

ISHTAR has been beating me at every turn; I have to turn this around.

I grab Hightower’s arm and put my pistol to his temple.

“Rick?!”

“Looks like I got your boss, Boom.” I sneer at him.

Even as I say these things, I know that what I’m doing is _not okay._ Hightower is shaking in my hands, like he believes I’ll actually shoot him.

If it comes right down to it, will I?  

Boomslang looked surprised before. Now, he looks horrified. He raises his hands, backing away, “Now, Mr. Conway, behave yourself.”

“I’ve got a pistol to your boss’s head, Boom. Maybe it’s you that should behave.”

He looks unsure as to whether or not I’m kidding.

“Rick…what are you doing?!” Hightower sounds terrified.

“You did this to yourself,” I hiss at him, “give me just one reason why I shouldn’t put you out of your misery right now.”

“Are you really going to fucking shoot me?! We don’t negotiate for agents!”

He’s drunk off his ass and went through a lot of trouble to help me and this is how I repay him.

I’m the lowest of the low; I’m scum.

“Death Adder won’t; I will.” Boomslang replies, “Name your price, Mr. Conway.”

He sounds wary and disappointed.

“Sawscale, obviously.”

Boomslang shakes his head, “No, I can’t do that; only Death Adder can.”

“I got her fucking boyfriend.” Even _Gessler_ would’ve been horrified at what I’m doing.

“She won’t take it, Rick; Sawscale’s more entertaining to her.” Hightower’s voice is shaking.

“More entertaining than her boy toy?” I don’t recognize my own voice.

Hightower’s voice is soft and breaking, “I can always be replaced.”

I am so fucking sorry.

I clench my teeth, “Laptop. The one you stole. Return it and I’ll return him.”   
  
Hightower looks Boomslang right in the eyes, “Call Sidewinder. He has it.”

Great; another agent is exactly what I need.

“You sure, mate?” He already has his mobile out.

Hightower screams, choking, “Just call Sidewinder!”

Boomslang does as he’s told; he calls Agent Sidewinder.

“Put it on speaker.” I order him.

“Boomslang? Salaam!” The person on the other end goes into this string of a language that might be Arabic or something. Boomslang replies in the same language.

“Hey!” I snap, “English, motherfucker!”

“Sidewinder, Diamondback’s gotten picked up.”

“…Again?” The accent is vaguely Middle Eastern and probably male.

“How often do you get kidnapped?” I ask Hightower.

He’s curled in on himself, hugging his knees. He sniffs, “Not that often….” 

“That was a long time ago. No, Conway nicked him. He’s demanding his laptop back.”

“…Is that all?”

“That is all.”

“I will be along shortly. With the computer.”

Boomslang winces, like what he’s about to say hurts, “And Sidewinder? Don’t tell the others about this?”

“Agreed.” Sidewinder says something else in that language, then hangs up.

“What language was that?”

“Urdu.”

I’m trying to put myself anywhere but here, “That’s spoken in Afghanistan, isn’t it?”

“It is. Language of poets, they say. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Hightower finally speaks, “…You weren’t really going to shoot me, were you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I deserve it.”

“Don’t say things like that. I had to do it.”

“It’s just business. We’re enemies, now.”

Boomslang leans back against the far wall, sighing, “We take this to our graves. Tell nobody. Sidewinder already knows; that’s too many people. Your liaison status won’t save you if anybody finds out.”

I ask, “What are you talking about?”

Boomslang glares at me, “Killing someone you care about is part of the initiation, Mr. Conway, how much do you think we’re really supposed to care about each other?”

The message is clear: If any other agent had shown up, they’d have called my bluff. We all got lucky.

I reach down to touch Hightower’s shoulder, comfort him and apologize at the same time somehow.

He flinches away from me.

Boomslang looks at me coolly, reminding me without words what he had said when he first proposed we work together: _Don’t let the ISHTAR agents have you acting just as crazy as them. It’s how they get you._

 

* * *

 

Sidewinder finds us without an address; I think he was tracking Boomslang’s phone.

He enters through the busted door, very dignified and impossibly suave. Sidewinder’s shorter than I expected; slim and dressed sharply. He wears a black turban and has a neatly trimmed beard. His eyes are dark and heavily lined.

He’s holding a laptop bag in his manicured hands. He looks at me like I’m some sort of peasant, like the piece of shit I completely know I am, “What you have in your hands is worth much more than what I have in mine.”

I maintain my best hardboiled voice, “Open it up and let me see it. Whole thing. If it’s bugged….”

“You’ll shoot him. I know.” He sets the laptop bag down and pulls my computer out in pieces, setting them down neatly for my inspection.

“Read off the serials on the harddrives.”

He does so, remarking, “Current difficulties aside, you’ve been afforded a rare opportunity; we do not normally negotiate for agents.”

“Trust me, I am enjoying this.” I lie.

“And yet, all you ask in return for a field liaison is a laptop with some special encryption and programs on it. All and all, about ten thousand dollars’ worth of plastic.”

“It’s a pretty fancy comp- ““-He asked for Sawscale, first.” Hightower interrupts.

I glare at him.

Sidewinder tilts his head back, considering, “Sawscale sticks to their principles in a world that would punish such things. Far more useful to have on your side. But, a trade is a trade. I’ll have Diamondback, now.”

He smiles, “Please.”

“Yeah, yeah. Take your drunk and go.” I grab Hightower around the collar and lift him to his feet. He’s limp and heavy in my hand as I shove him into Sidewinder’s arms. Hightower is taller by a longshot and still drunk. He stumbles into Sidewinder, but the latter doesn’t budge. Boomslang scoops Hightower up, tossing him over his shoulder. Boom gives me this look like he’s no longer so sure about me.

Sidewinder turns away from me, tossing the tail end of his turban over his shoulder, like I’m no longer worth his time, “Come, Agent Boomslang. We should be back before Death Adder realizes what has happened.”

“We won’t tell the others about this, will we?”

“It will be our secret.”

As soon as they’re gone I fall on Hightower’s mattress and cry like a baby.

You got me, Death Adder.

You got me good.


	13. Curiouser and Curiouser

I have Diamondback on the couch in the apartment Mark and I share. We’re debating on what to do with him. I put his trilby over his face.

“You just left him in his clothes?” Mark is eating cold pizza.

“You want to undress him, then?”

“He’ll probably wake up long enough break my fingers if I tried.”

“Exactly. As far as I know, only Addie and Saw get a pass. He bashed me in the face with a rifle once for grabbing him without his permission.”

“So, before he wakes up, what happened?”

“Not allowed to talk about it; sorry.”

“He went to confront Conway? Got his ass kicked in some crosslinked Rube Goldberg contraption?”

I look at him, “Well, fuck me, Mark.”

“Why doesn’t the sun just shut the fuck up?”  Diamondback asks groggily, “Fuck, I need a drink.”

I pull a flask out of my coat pocket.

“You’re not seriously giving him a drink, are you?”

“Not for him; for me.” I pull from my flask.

“How you feeling, mate?” I ask gently. Bad idea. Diamondback lifts his hat off his face to look at me suspiciously.

“What did I get up to last night?”

“What do you remember?”

“I threw myself out of my office window.” He looks at his hat curiously. Shit.

“When did I get my trilby back?”

_Think fast!_

“Er….”

Mark grabs my flask, “You went to the Pink Elephant and ran into Conway. He was wearing your hat and proceeded to mock you.”

He takes a pull from it and hands it back to me. Mark doesn’t know what happened. He just saw me stall and started making shit up. I could kiss him.

“Sounds like him. Was he drunk?”

“Very. You threatened to beat him to death with his own shoes if he didn’t give your hat back.”

I add, “We all know how much you hate being laughed at.”

“I traded your hats back to shut the two of you up. About time I started being useful.”

He checks his pockets.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He waves me off.

“There’s cold pizza.” Mark says as he walks off, “Melenie’s holding a press conference. We’re all invited. She has something planned; I know it.”  

I know what it is. I feel bad for leaving Mark, arguably a client, out. He didn’t deserve the fucking he got at the hands of his ex. And he doesn’t deserve the one he’s about to get.

I look back at Diamondback. He watches Mark as he leaves. I ask, “You ever been just good enough at something to know you’re completely out of your league?”

“Yes.”

“I wonder if Jackson knows.”

“Of course he does. …Fuck, I think I’m still drunk.”

 

* * *

 

 

Rooke had picked Eagle’s Point for the press release and after party. She brought Conway with her. He looks professional despite wearing the same kit he always does on mission.  His hands are in his pockets and he’s wearing an earpiece.

Death Adder is wearing Coachwhip’s hat. I’d know that giant monstrosity anywhere. She’s dressed like her, too. White suit. Next to her, Mark looks very severe in black. Hanging back is Diamondback, with an earpiece, controlling the other agents. If he’s still drunk or hungover, he’s doing an admirable job hiding it.

We’re all wearing suits, in fact, to include Cascavel. She’s not with Copperhead, which makes me think they’re fighting. If they’re not fighting about Sawscale, I’ll eat my scarf. Copperhead has a set of brand-new hypertrousers and dropshot; about time he gets with the picture and kits up like the rest of us. You can’t do this job with just a crosslink and gumption. I’ll have to give him shit about the yellow color he picked sometime.

Conway gives them both this condescending sneer as he sees them. Death Adder’s antagonism is starting to get to him. If the hatred for us gets too much to bear, he’ll do something stupid. And we’ll be there to bail him out and forgive him. Then he’s in our debt and it only gets worse from there.

It doesn’t help that Diamondback’s devotion to both Conway and Death Adder is making excellent leverage.  Sooner or later, Di’s going to have to make a choice. He can’t have them both and he knows it.

The four of us take up positions around doors to provide security. I see Conway hanging close, but not too close, to Rooke. He glances over at me, then looks away. His conscious is bothering him.

Death Adder and Rooke meet for the first time. I step in close; I have to see this.

“You must be Death Adder.” She offers her hand.

Adder takes it, all smiles, “Melenie Rooke?”

“I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m impressed. Private security isn’t an easy business to get into.”

“And competition is anything but friendly.”

They’re still holding hands. Rooke smiles coldly, “The tools of the trade are getting harder and harder to come by. I can see why you’d be interested in buying up Intex.”

Conway and I look at each other; he shrugs and smiles uncomfortably. I keep my eyes on his hands. He can’t do much on a touch-screen mobile if he can’t see it.

“It used to be a safe investment, going into arms dealing when you’re a security company. Not so much anymore, but life’s too short not to go for broke, right?”

“How true.”

“I heard you’re a neuroscientist; how’d you get into weapons? Aren’t the point of weapons the opposite of what a doctor is supposed to do?”

“Depends on the kind of doctor.”

Death Adder laughs. They finally let go of each other. Their white hands turn red as the blood rushes back to them.

“Mark.” Rooke doesn’t offer her hand.

“Mel.”

“How’s Intex treating you?”

“Better than Rooke Firearms is going to treat you.”

“Wow, Mark. Only in the face of oblivion do you finally show your teeth.”

She gives him a look over, “Unlike other parts of your anatomy.”

Mark tilts his head so he can look down his nose at her, “Well, I had needs and I didn’t want frostbite, so what else was I going to do? But, this isn’t about our loveless marriage, is it?”

“No matter what happens today, Mark, I want you to know that it’s just business.”

“Also like our marriage. Just business.” He walks off, scowling.

Formal introductions out of the way, I see Rooke pull Diamondback into a hug. His initial reaction is to get out of the way, but he resists that and lets her hug him around the waist. Due to their height difference, he puts his arms around her shoulders, looking away uncomfortably.

Apparently women and Sawscale are allowed to hug him, but when I get close he tries breaking my nose. Sexist asshole.

Cascavel and Copperhead look at them curiously. Their boss is a puzzle to which they only have a handful of pieces and none of them fit.

“It’s not your fault.” I think she says to him. The hell does she mean by that? She pulls away, smiling at him, then turns and walks off with Conway. Conway can’t look at Diamondback; he just keeps his eyes on the ground. Diamondback can’t look at him, either.

Did he really black out last night, or was he just testing me?

…Did I pass?

“Filling my boy’s mind with her rot.” Death Adder scowls, “She offends me.”

I expect her to confront Diamondback, but she doesn’t. If she did, she’d look like a hypocrite, but it’s not the physical connection that bothers her.

Conway stands behind Rooke as she takes her place at the podium. He has his hat pushed down over his eyes and his hands are in front of him. He’s too small to be intimidating, but that only makes him more dangerous, as far as I’m concerned. I check the crosslink; he hasn’t messed with anything as far as I can tell.  I hope he’ll warn me if he’s going to try something. He owes me.

I mean, by all fucking rights, I could have called his bluff and made him shoot Diamondback.

“I’d like to thank everyone for coming.” Rooke begins, “As you all know, the recent riots have called attention to the difficult times we are all facing in East Point. Rooke Firearms is a gun company facing a weapons ban; we can’t avoid cutbacks.”

Mark is sitting next to Death Adder. He leans back, folding his arms and frowning.

“That is why, in order to alleviate some of the suffering, I am going public with Rooke Firearms. Lucena Logistics has informed me they are following suite.”

The room explodes in a cacophony of questions. It drowns out Mark’s exclamation, “Oh that bitch!”

Death Adder rubs his back, smiling wide at Rooke. She reveres her enemies.

As soon as the noise dies down, Rooke continues, “And as a show of good faith, as CEO, I will only accept an annual salary of one dollar.”

I’m impressed.

Diamondback fights back a smile, then scowls again.

“Fifty-one percent of the shares have been given to every employees of Rooke Firearms. The remaining forty-nine will be available to the public.”

I look through my stock options. Insider trading was something I used to do for fun and profit before I was a mercenary. If all goes well, it should be something I do again. You get in less trouble if you’re caught.

Mark steps outside for a cigarette. Funny, I didn’t know he smoked. I follow him.

“That bitch.” He repeats.

“It’s not the end of the world, mate. You still have Intex. You’re still going to be exonerated for murder. And you still have us.”

“Do I?” He asks angrily, “How long is Adder going to support me if she can’t get her hooks into Lucena and Rooke?”

“We still have Intex. It’s not as good as we were hoping, but it’s hardly a dealbreaker.”

“I can still get half of her shares when the divorce is finalized. I still get alimony.”

“Exactly.”

“It’s just…fuck….”

“I know, mate.”

“Twenty-five percent of Rooke and Lucena is a hell of a lot less than we were hoping for. Should have known she’d do something like this.”

Diamondback was far from us, smoking and staring out at the lake. He suddenly looked confused, and took his earpiece out, looking at it curiously.

Conway approaches him. I can’t hear what he’s saying. He appears to ask him a question and Diamondback hands him a cigarette. Conway puts it in his mouth, then shrugs and apparently mentions he doesn’t have a lighter. Diamondback lights it with his cigarette, leaning in close enough their hat brims are touching. He enhales deeply and illuminates their faces though the smoke. They pull away.

I know Diamondback better than anybody, except Saw and Adder of course. I know all of his tells. If the chemistry between them was any more palpable, I’d tell them to get a room.

“At this point, why does Diamondback even stick around?” Mark asks quietly. He turns so his back is to them so I can observe them while pretending to be talking to him, “It can’t just be Death Adder.”

“It is her and it isn’t her.” I reply, “Diamondback has put too much into their relationship to back out. He turned on his friends for her. Turned on myself and Sawscale for this.”

“If he gives her up for Conway, then what was it for?”

“Exactly. He worked too hard to give up on her.”

“You know, I used to think that. Lot of good trying to leave did me.”

They keep talking to one another in hushed voices, standing close, but with guarded body language. Cautious.

Conway smiles and tells a joke, Diamondback smiles, suddenly looking his age. I barely recognize him.  Curiously, Di starts to open up, telling a story. Probably one that only people like us would find amusing.

Mark and I head back inside to see the media circus starting to wind down.

I see Cas and Copperhead sitting with Death Adder between them. They had all accepted the free prosecco and were starting early. I give the two junior agents a disapproving look as I sit down.  Drinking on the job had too much potential for disaster.

Apparently, one of them had asked about Sawscale. Probably Cascavel. That schoolgirl crush is getting irritating.

“Well, Sawscale and I were an item for a while. They were so…vicious.”

“I can believe it.” Copperhead was on his third or fourth glass.

“We were a real terror partnered up. They liked to get the nastiest jobs. Especially if it involved drug dealers. I’d usually have to stop them from killing their clients when we got paid.”

Death Adder being the saner of the two didn’t click in my head; I couldn’t see it. Sawscale was tough, but never sadistic, right?

“What happened?” Cascavel asks.

Death Adder sucked her teeth and sighed, looking away, “They just…mellowed the hell out. The more…gender neutral they got, the nicer they got. Went all southern genteel on me, learned mercy somewhere; talk about picking up bad habits. They started talking to people to get information rather than tie them up and beat it out of them. It just wasn’t fun anymore.”

Sawscale was the one that taught me that conversation was the better way to get information out of people.  No, Death Adder couldn’t have been telling the truth.

And yet, I had a feeling, a flash of memories of Sawscale smiling inappropriately; being a little too eager to accept certain jobs. On the mission where we lost the last Copperhead, Sawscale had offered to do that one for free. Mexico was right next door to Sawscale’s old hunting grounds; though I didn’t know the details at the time (I had seen that badge at least a few times), I wrote it off as revenge or state pride or some such nonsense.

Maybe it wasn’t the entire story.

Copperhead tilts his head, “Hey, I think that’s Conway. When did he get here?”

“He’s been here the entire time, Copper.” Diamondback replies as he sits down, “Don’t accept anything edible from Cottonmouth.”

“Well, invite him over.” Death Adder says, “Show him we’re not so bad.”

She looks over at Diamondback and frowns, wrinkling her nose, “You smell like an ashtray.”

“Sorry.”

“Nasty habit.”

Copperhead gets up and walks over to him, sitting by himself. I don’t hear what they’re talking about, but he picks up his two glasses of the free prosecco and follows Copperhead to us.  Addie cheers.

He hangs on what exactly to call us, “…Snakes.”

Eh, he’s not wrong.

“Mr. Conway!”

He stands next to Diamondback, who sits up straight.

“Unfortunately, I’m on a mission, so I can’t stay. But have some wine.” Conway offers his glass to Adder, who takes it, “I go where Rooke goes, you know?”

He hands the other glass to Diamondback, who downs the entire thing in one gulp. Adder gives him a coy look as she sips hers.

“Just don’t get any ideas, Conway. She eats even the toughest men alive.”  Mark warns.

“Tougher than you?” Conway retorts, tipping his hat to us, “I think I’ll be fine.”

He walks toward the exit.

“God, what a bore! I’m in a party mood.” Adder finishes her glass.

“What are you thinking?” Diamondback asks, smiling nastily.  

“I dunno, maybe blow something up or stab somebody.” She grins wickedly, “What do you say, Markie? Since you’re not getting Lucena back, maybe it’s time you joined us.”

I snort into my wine.

“I’ve never even fired a gun. I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“Neither did I when I started.” Diamondback remarks, twirling his glass, “We’ll teach you.”

“It’s point and click, mate.” Copperhead says, “I wasn’t much of a shot either.”

“How are you with a knife?” Cascavel asks, getting in on this.

“Pointy end goes into the other guy? Hell if I know.”

“What have you been using to keep your fork company all these years then?”Copper asks, elbowing him.

Naturally, Adder takes it too far, “We should take you on missions with us! It’ll be fun!”

She giggles, “I can think of at least one person that could use a good stabbing right now.”

“Can you imagine me killing anybody?” Mark asks.

“You never know until you try!” Adder stands up and stumbles, “Woah!”

She puts her hand on the table for balance.

“Addie, I think you’ve had enough.” Diamondback puts his hand on hers.

“I’ve only had two glasses!” She bubbles, “I feel all noodlely!”

Diamondback’s face blanches and his mouth hangs open for a second, “Addie…I think you’ve been drink-fucked.”

The realization stops her smiling and she looks at him, eyes wide. She points, “I think you’re right.”

She starts to crumble to the floor, but Diamondback catches her. Copperhead rushes over to check her vitals.

Everyone’s mobiles buzz angrily all at once. We’ve missed quite a few messages from Sidewinder on the unsecured network; the ones all the civilians used. Apparently, we’d been missing calls and messages for an hour. But our phones had reception, didn’t they?

The messages were all the same; a hacker had broken into the network and our VPN was down. Nasty virus.

“Racetrack. Everybody.” Diamondback orders, “Mark, get Adder to the hospital.”

He pushes Adder into Mark’s arms. He looks at her unconscious face for a moment. And then he teeters.

“Conway, you fucking prick.”

I catch him before he falls.

“Clever bastard….” I say.


	14. Femme Fatal

Okay, so roofie-ing those two was kind of mean. I get it. But my Hightower’s a little fragile and I need him out of the way for a little bit.

I am not sorry at all for drugging Death Adder. I _really_ need her out of the way.

I think about him as I touch my lips. He’s stopped trying to recruit me, probably because it’s getting through to him that I’m not joining.

I had asked Rooke to take me along to her press conference. She held it in the evening, to work with my sleep schedule.

“Got a square?” I asked when I found him by himself. It wasn’t far from where I’d first met Coachwhip.

He got this look of fear on his face when he saw me, but it vanished under his stoic demeanor when he handed me one. Funny, he smoked my brand.

Well, I did get him smoking again. I feel kind of bad about that.

“Got a light?” I asked.

His face was wooden as he leaned down to light my cigarette with his, “You shouldn’t be here.”

I smiled wickedly, “Care to escort me out?”

“You’re not taking this seriously.” He leaned back and folded his arms. I noticed how guarded we were around each other; my arms were folded, too.

“Of course I am. It’s you that never takes me seriously. I think I’ve proven myself enough.”

“Against an ISHTAR that had rules and followed them. Death Adder is nothing like Coachwhip.”

“I know that. Believe me, I know. Coachwhip was just going to kill you. Death Adder…I don’t even have a word for it. She makes you someone else.”

“You’re looking too much into it. This _is_ who I am and I _like_ who I am. That’s why I do this. I can’t protect you much longer and Sawscale will repent with you out of the picture. You’re an albatross around our necks.”

Those words hit me right in the gut but I refused to show it. Instead, I sneered as I blew smoke in his face, “The albatross brought _good_ luck until some idiot shot it.”  I kept my voice down to avoid attracting Boomslang’s attention, “Get that condescending, white-knight attitude out of here. If this is who you really are, you wouldn’t even be talking to me; you’d have killed me a long time ago when I wasn’t useful anymore. And I’m going to prove it.”

“Prove? This isn’t a fucking game, Conway. More than just East Point is at stake.”

“You told me. And don’t you mean at ‘snake’?”

He took a long drag on his cigarette and forced himself to frown, “I am not making snake puns with you. This is serious; get the fuck away from me. I’m dangerous.”

“Fangs for the tip, but I also know ISHTAR is on its last legs. Wait, snakes don’t have legs. Hold on, I can do better….”  

He covered his mouth to hide his smile until he got it under control and he pointed at me with his cigarette, “ You need to stop making fucking snake jokes…. If you’re not going to join us, I highly suggest you get the hell out of East Point, find a white hat company somewhere, and forget we exist.”

It was hard to take that statement seriously when he tried not to laugh, “Forget you exi _sssss_ t? I suppose I could go diamond-back to coiling in Python, join the rat-snake race, but I think that kind of work would be a little constricting, you know?”

I was on a motherfucking roll.

He gives up, “…You’re too adder-brained to a-pit-uate the snake-uation you’ve side-winded up in.”

Finally, score one for Conway.

I watched Mark and Boomslang head back inside. In that moment, we were alone.

My hands tingled and the hairs on the back of my neck rose. He sensed it too, and leaned back nervously.

“All jokes aside,” I said quietly, stepping closer and throwing my cigarette away, “I’m too far in to back out now. I’m the good guy, remember?” He looked away and I took his hands, “Good guys don’t leave half-way through the story, not when the femme fatal and her gangsters are still in the picture and the dame is still in distress.”

“You mean Sawscale?”  He was fidgeting. His hands trembled, barely perceptible, but there.

“Not exactly a dame, but them…Rooke… you. I can’t turn tail and run now. Not when everyone is depending on me.”

“Not exactly a dame myself.” He smiled sadly, looking out at East Point, “This isn’t one of your noir books and even then, everyone in those stories is dark and twisted and they tend to end badly. I don’t want that for you.”

I give him a gentle shake so he faces me, “Hey. There were like, five snake puns you missed in there. And don’t worry about me, even if it proves you’re not some heartless snake.”

“All right, smart guy, if I’m not Diamondback, who am I?”

I almost say his name, but I stop myself. They’re too important to them to just throw around, “To be honest, I’m not sure, but I see the real you now and again; I’d really like to get to know that guy better.”

He gives me this disbelieving look. This arrogant bastard really thought he had me fooled, “When?”  

“Just now, for example.” My hands slid up to his shoulders. 

He hissed and flinched away, “Easy! I just got those touched up. It’s like touching a sunburn.”

Whoops, I thought I was being gentle. They looked pretty faded last time I saw them. It made me feel better about him flinching away from me.

I grab his dropshot collar instead, “I think you mean 'sunbeam'.”

I had to get one more snake pun in.

Absolutely nothing interesting happened between that and when we walked inside separately, I swear.

Back to the present.

I giggle to myself and the people on the train with me give me wary looks. I just think it’s hilarious that whoever is doing ISHTAR’s programming likes to use Python.

Python. Get it? More snake puns.

I had been playing around in their network the entire press conference. I had put my mobile on accessibility mode and used it one-handed without having to see it.  The hard part was getting the phone to work even though I had a cellphone jammer.  I’m not much of a wireless guy, but I managed to tell the system to block all phones but my own.  As long as you were within a twenty-five meter radius of me, your phone just wasn’t going to work.

Speaking of mobiles, I get a message.

> Jackson: This is Mark. Diamondback is asking why you drugged him.  
> He also says you’re a jerk and you only knocked out two liaisons, so there’s two more that are coming to stop you.  
> Pay: $0

“Well, I have a question for him: Why did he accept a drink from me?”

“He says, and I quote, ‘Real funny, asshole.’”

“Tell him: I didn’t pour the wine down his throat.”

“Once again, he’d like to reiterate that you are a colossal asshole. I agree.”

“Compared to you, I’m a saint. Remind him that he got me drunk off my ass twice and drugged me once, so I’m still not sorry.”

Hightower must have grabbed the phone, “dissertations sidewinder @ racetrack ducking typing thought tough asshole”

Autocorrect was making a valiant effort to make sense of his typing, but it just made him harder to understand. Rather than delete the wrong word, he just hit ‘space’ and kept trying until he got the word he wanted. It makes for some hilarious free-form poetry.

“You’re trying to tell me something, I know it.”

He types this out slower, “fingers numb double vision”

Okay, that was better, “Stop trying to stay awake; you’re not going to be able to muscle through this.”

“watch me asshole Ima kick your ass”

“I’m going to show this to you when you’re sober. I want you to know that.”

“watch out for cotton & sidewinder”

“Oh, I have something for your liaison friends. Seriously, you need to sleep it off; I can barely make out your typing.”

“boom team @ racetrack cant blow cover”

“Duly noted.”

Thing is, I’m not going to the racetrack; I can’t go in blind to rescue Sawscale otherwise I’d just end up sharing a cell with them. If I’m lucky.

I really need to ask him where he stands on all that; but if he’s not on our side, he’d just lie about it anyway, so I don’t really think I should bother. Though, he gets really honest when he’s messed up.

“What makes you think Boomslang is on my side?”

“bad liar vanish all the time only other spy left is u”

“What do you plan on doing about it?” _Field Liaison Diamondback. If that’s who you really are._

It takes him a while to type his answer. If it wasn’t for the little message at the bottom telling me he’s typing, I’d think he’d finally passed out.

Finally, he says, “nothing”

I get off the train and over to Intex. The lights are on; people are working.

I badge into the building and am pleasantly surprised that it works. They didn’t bother to clear Coachwhip’s privileges or even flag her name if she popped up somewhere. Sloppy, sloppy.

I wave at the professionals on the floor. They nod politely to me. I get a sudden rush as I walk past them as if I owned the place. I was walking through enemy territory and the enemy had no idea. I feel like James Bond and Sam Spade and Mike Hammer all rolled into one awesome package.

Even so, I keep a lookout for anybody that might recognize me. I keep my collar popped and my hat down. Finally, I find an office where people are working. They glance up at me as I enter, only to look away.

A stout, middle-aged woman puts her glasses on to look at me, “What can I do for you, sir?”

“Oh, uh, listen, my badge is acting funny, but I got into the building. Weird, huh?”

She smiles and shakes her head, “Don’t you just hate it when that happens?”

“Yeah, mind if I try logging in?”

“There’s a free computer right over there, honey.” She goes back to typing, “But we only have unclassed here, you need to go upstairs for the classified ones.”

“Oh, okay. Is anybody still up there?”

“No, everyone upstairs went to that press conference or the racetrack. They’ll probably go home after that.”

“Oh, I see. So, nobody there to let me in?”

“If your badge doesn’t work, honey, I can escort you upstairs.”

“Thanks a million. What’s your name?” I offer her my hand.

She takes my hand in both of hers, “Just call me Debbie. I know I’m not supposed to ask, but who are you?”

I hesitate, “Oh, uh, Agent Coachwhip.”

She gives me a look and I panic internally, “Not used to the codename, yet?”

“Yeah, I’m still pretty new.”

“I can tell. Good luck.”

I walk upstairs and badge myself in.

I rub the giant globe statue affectionately as I pass. They never replaced the chair Hightower threw through the window. I feel a chill as I pass an office and notice one of the doors is open. I look inside. Someone had taped a picture of Hightower eating pizza on the door with the caption, in impact font, saying, “DIAMONDBACK IS NOT ANOREXIC”.

I doubt he put that up there. Or the paper on the monitor that says, “MR.SUNSHINE WILL EAT YOUR SOUL”.

And here I was afraid ISHTAR agents didn’t have a sense of humor.

Inside jokes aside, there’s nothing personal in here, just office stuff. The window had been smashed out and it looked like the glaziers were working on fixing it. The window had a tarp taped over it. I see a folder on the desk and open it. Hightower’s handwriting, details of what training he wants what agents to attend.

Because I’m a nosy bastard, I look through his desk. More office stuff, instant noodles, and candy so he doesn’t have to leave his office.  One of these days I’m going to have to teach him about nutrition.

He also has a lot of bandages, pain killers, and…moisturizer? He uses a lot of moisturizer.

_Tattoos, pervert. He has a lot of tattoos. Moisturizer is used in the aftercare for tattoos._

Death Adder’s door is open and I walk in. To call it disturbing in here really doesn’t cut it. It’s a mockery of an office fit for an elementary school principal. I feel sick and gross and cold and terrified just standing in here.

“Have a great summer Miss Hightower!” a bunch of drawings said. Some kid at some point had drawn her and Cottonmouth together under a banner that says “Science is fun!”. I can tell it’s him because of the bucket hat, beard, and sunglasses.

Disturbing as it is, at least I know his last name now.

I sit down at her desk. There’s bottles of tattoo ink in the drawer, along with everything you’d need to tattoo somebody. She has a sketchbook and I look through it to see incredibly familiar drawings that make me wretch from where I’d seen them before.

I shouldn’t have put rohypnol in her drink; I should have put poison. Nasty, slow, poison. Watch her try and come back from that.  

I slam the book shut and log into her computer with Coachwhip’s ID. I remembered the password was “Hightower” at one point. When did my Hightower change it and why? Operational security, sure, but why not ‘password123’?  He’s emotionally cautious, so he likes to code his intentions, awkward as they are. Why “Ed31We15S”?

That’s a flower, right?

I regain focus and start rooting around. I’m constantly looking at the door or the window for some sign of somebody coming back. Two liaisons and three agents can still make my life hell, especially with what I did to their boss.

And Boom can’t blow his cover or he’s right there with Sawscale and myself.  If not worse.

Horse tracks didn’t have super-secret underground bases, usually, so I need to find some plans or security measures or something. Super-secret bases usually had security and all the computers had to talk to each other, so there was a network to be exploited, if I could find it. I start dumping as many files into a flash drive as I can. This is going to be a smash-and-grab kind of mission.

My cursor starts moving on its own. It opens up an empty text file.

“Long time no see, Agent Coachwhip. How is the afterlife?”

Great, the IT staff found me. I type back, “The Devil was pleasantly surprised to see me, naturally, but he sent me back to terrorize the living and exact some well-deserved revenge. Tell me, which snake are you?”

“I find it offensive you would not remember your own intelligence staff; this is Agent Sidewinder, of course. I’m afraid there will be no revenge tonight, my dear, for I’ve sent reinforcements to your location as soon as your badge touched the scanner; they should be along shortly.”

I need to go.

“As for Field Liaison Cottonmouth, well, he has his own unpleasant surprise for you.”

I pack up and head for the roof. Before I go, I notice beanbag animals on her desk. I remember the brand from when I was a kid. There’s a frog one and a snake one that catch my eye. They have to come with me. I bust them out of this freaky office by stuffing them in my pockets.

True to Sidewinder’s word, that motherfucking jingle truck has pulled up. If Boomslang is with him, we’re both in a world of shit. If we run into each other, we’ll have to fight and I’ll probably lose. I’m starting to figure out that a direct confrontation with the snakes is an unbelievably poor idea. I leap off the roof and head for the underground.


	15. Harder Than the Fall

We entered the racetrack to find Sidewinder in the interrogation booth with Sawscale. Conway isn’t here.  In case Conway decided to cut the power to the racetrack, Sidewinder had broken a chemlight and hung it around Sawscale’s neck, to better find them in the dark. Naturally, he gave them an orange one.

“Stay here.” I tell the other two. They’re too happy not to be in the same room with a liaison and a traitor.

“I warned you.”  Sidewinder tells Sawscale, folding his hands in front of him.

“I know.”

“I told you Diamondback would side with Death Adder. I warned you not to try saving him every single time you tried and every single time I was right.”

“I disagree.  Psychological abuse takes a long time to recover from. Believe me, I was a cop. I had my share of wounded birds. The important thing is to not give up.”

“Love does not heal all wounds.”

“No, it doesn’t.” They look away, remembering faces, “Love is cleaning up other people’s shit. Love is sticking it out and getting them the help they need so they can heal.”  

“How many of them eventually left?  Your wounded birds?”

“A few.”

“Do you remember how many? Which ones?”

Sawscale looks Sidewinder right in the eyes, “Yes.”

“If they could only see you now.” Sidewinder sneers, “You and Death Adder have a messiah complex.”

Sawscale shakes their head, looking at the floor and remembering faces, “No…just…a sense of justice.”

“Justice? You’re an assassin for an international criminal organization.”

 _“Was.”_ Sawscale corrects, “Ain’t nobody got us called down on them if they didn’t deserve it.”

“I should really try delusion sometime; it seems nice.”

Yeah, Sawscale’s claim doesn’t really hold water. They stay silent.

“What are you trying to accomplish, Sawscale? I am wracking my brains trying to figure you out and nothing makes sense.”

“If you don’t understand, you never will.”

Sidewinder stares at his hands, “It’s defiance for the sake of defiance. The more we push, the harder you push back. You go rogue, you try to turn agents. You…you have no idea how…crazy you are, do you?”

“Oh, I know how crazy I am.”

Sidewinder erased their words with his hand, “No, no you don’t. Everyone here thinks it was Diamondback who fell when Coachwhip deposed Death Adder, but that’s not true.  Diamondback followed the last orders given by his employer and the one he perceived to be the true leader of ISHTAR. He didn’t fall; you did.”

Sawscale finally looks up at him, narrowing their eyes, “How you figure?”

“Twenty agents are dead because of you. Do not tell me Diamondback was such a great agent you could not have gotten the drop on him at any time. No, there were opportunities and you refused to take them. I understand not caring about those agents personally, but…he betrayed you and you stayed loyal. To the wrong cause, I might add.”

Sawscale’s laugh is high and shrill, “I appreciate the vote of confidence, hoss; I really do. But saying we were collaborating to wipe out ISHTAR is a pretty big stretch.”

“Collaborating? No. You simply broke under the pressure. I do not know where you picked up the mental disease known as compassion, but it has caused you nothing but pain.”

I enter the interrogation room. Sawscale pretends I don’t exist. They raise an eyebrow, sort of folding their good arm under their broken one, “We never did get to talk about it, did we? Been wondering what you thought of all that.”

“I do what’s best for the organization. The individuals within it mean little to me.”

“Since Lydia got perforated, you mean.” Their smile is this little cruel thing, one that shows off their teeth but doesn’t reach their eyes.

Sidewinder inhales sharply from the pain, “Since Copperhead was killed, yes.”

Sawscale shakes their head, smiling through pain, “Oh, Sidewinder, you know the rules. Agents don’t die, they just change faces. They live on and you’re just a memory.”

“We are not here to discuss our policies.” Sidewinder narrows his eyes angrily and without breaking eye contact, he tells me, “Mr. Conway is not here.”

Big mistake. Sawscale is probably wondering why Sidewinder thought to bring that up.  
  
“Well, where is he?” I ask. I need to keep my mouth shut.  Now Sawscale knows that if we’re looking for him, we’ve lost him in a bad way; they know he’s on the offensive.

“Intex.” Sawscale doesn’t break eye contact with Sidewinder as they say this, “He badged in using Agent Coachwhip’s ID, didn’t he?”

Wait, what?

The disgust is palpable on Sidewinder’s face.

“In case you wondering where he got it, I suspect he got it when he killed her. Of course, he could also be using someone else’s ID, but that would burn the rat and you’d be talking to them, not me, right?”

Sidewinder looks up at me with his eyes, then back at Sawscale, “That would be unusually forward-thinking of him, don’t you agree?”

“Keep underestimating him. Please.” Sawscale finally gives a real smile.

“You’ve always been a terrible judge of character, Agent Sawscale.”

Sidewinder stands up and motions for me to follow him out the door. We meet the other two agents in the observation booth.

Cascavel fidgets uncomfortably. Copperhead pulls his hat down over his eyes, “The rat must have given it to him.”

I know Copperhead suspects me. He’s an idiot, sure, but not _that_ much of one.

Still, where the hell did Conway get Coachwhip’s agent ID? Did Sawscale or Diamondback get it before the body was disposed? I wasn’t there, so I’m not sure.

Cottonmouth pops his head in the doorway, stinking of patchouli and cannabis.

“Bro-winder.”

“Agent Cottonmouth.”

“Bro, how fucked up would it be if you jumped into a ball pit and it was just tomatoes painted different colors?”

“Agent Cottonmouth, how intoxicated are you?”

Cottonmouth smiles wide, “I haven’t been drinking, ossifer!”

Sidewinder sighs in disgust, “Are you able to drive?”

“Yeah, bro. Fine.”

“Take Cascavel and get to Intex. Sawscale just told me he likely went there. Capture him alive if you can, but I’m not worried about taking him in dead, either.”

“You got it, bro. Come on, Sister-val.”

“Eh, I don’t think I like that name, anymore.” She follows him outside.

Cottonmouth smiles wide, as if Cascavel has come up with an amazing idea, “Cas-Cuz sounds so much cooler, man!”

Cottonmouth went through a lot of trouble having that van imported from Pakistan. Sometimes, I wondered if he lived in it.

“Yup. Definitely been infiltrated.” Copperhead mutters.

“Whatever gender they discover they are, Copperhead, they are still Cascavel.” Sidewinder says gently.

“Is she using they/them, now, too?”

“They haven’t asked that of me. But if they do, does it matter?”

“A little.”

“Is it because of their or her perceived change in gender or is it because Agent Sawscale gave them the idea?”

“Both?”

“That person is your current partner and you will respect their decisions, is that clear, Agent Copperhead?”

“Of course, but….”

Sidewinder looks at the last Copperhead wistfully, “It will take time to adjust, I know. You will want to mourn the person you think you are losing until you realize they never left in the first place.”

“Ahem,” I say, “We’re under attack?”

“Yes. We will stay behind and guard Sawscale in case Conway tries something, either remotely or in person. I know for a fact that losing use of an arm doesn’t limit Sawscale’s ability to use a rope.”

“It wouldn’t?” Copperhead pantomimes killing someone with a rope.

Sidewinder stands up, rubbing his wrists from painful memories, “I pray you will not experience Sawscale’s ropes.”

I rub my wrists, too. Sawscale’s demonstrations could get pretty rough. They always said it was to teach empathy, so I’d know when to stop.

Okay, maybe what Death Adder said was at least partially true. Sawscale might be a little sadistic. If they were, they at least had a better outlet for it than she did.

“Boomslang, talk to Sawscale.” Sidewinder orders, “I’m going to see what damage Mr. Conway has caused.”

“Eh….”

“Is there a problem?”

“You want me alone with Sawscale?”

“Just remember they are insane; do not listen to their lies. If they attempt an escape, show no mercy. They will not show any to you.”

“Got it.” I walk in to sit down in front of Sawscale. They drop the attitude to smile hopefully at me.

Staring directly at them, I realize I can only see that greenish glint in their eye in direct light. Otherwise, it’s solid black, like an animal.

“How are you faring in here?” It’s hard to maintain eye contact with Sawscale’s artificial eye. Seriously, that thing is spooky.

“Not too bad. Not too bad. The nurses ain’t allowed to talk to me and Sidewinder don’t know the meaning of casual dress, but other than that….” I finally notice they’re wearing Sidewinder’s clothes.

“And your arm?”

“Itchy. Awkward in the shower.”

“Not in pain, are you?”

“I’m tough.” They smile at me.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Defying her. You got me. You got Diamondback. For fuck’s sake, Saw, you could get Conway to join in, too, if you really wanted. You could be a liaison, so you could actually spend your ill-gotten gains-“ “Ill-gotten, Boom. That’s the kicker. What we doing ain’t right. Also, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but me and Addie don’t see eye-to-cyborg eye on pretty much anything.”

Sawscale has chosen an _excellent_ time to grow a conscious.

“Didn’t you fuck her across this desk?”

“What?! No!” They’re blushing, “Jesus wept, Boom. I bit her on the neck and we kissed a bit. That’s all. If she said we did anything else, she lying.”

“That’s not the idea I got from Di.”

“He said Addie and I was fucking?!”

“Well, not exactly.”

“Do me a favor and kill that rumor, please. The idea….”

“You made out with Death Adder, though, that’s true?”

“A little.” They touched their lips.

“Did you two ever….?”

“Yeah. When I was a rookie. Got traded out for Di when I stopped taking my own fears and insecurities out on everyone else.”

“The gender thing?”

“The gender thing.”

“My God, does she sleep with every new agent?”

Sawscale laughs loudly, slapping the table, “I forgot she got you, too!”

“There is far too much workplace drama here.”

“You said it.”

“You caused a lot of it.” I reach across the table. They meet me halfway with their good arm. My hand engulfs theirs. They twist their wrist to lace our fingers together.

“It all leads back to her, hoss. If she was replaced with someone else; Sidewinder, Di, –hell- Cottonmouth, then I’d consider returning. Until then, absolutely not. I don’t like being crazy. I thought I was over it, then the way she got in Di’s head like that made it all come back.”

“I think you’re one of the few here that isn’t crazy.”

“I never did get to apologize for what I did when Di left.”

I smile sadly, “It’s not a big deal.”

“Boom, you can’t be thinking like that.”

“You were hurt.” I squeezed their hand as gently as I could, “I was happy to help, even a little bit.”

“And I’m really, truly sorry about this.”

They yanked my arm back and kick the table right where my nose met my face. I’m reeling as they twist my arm behind my back. I twist back, but they sweep the chair out from under me and use a knee to keep my hand pinned to my back. They twist my wrist until I give them my other hand and they tie my wrists together with the string attached to the chemlight.

They steal my mobile and crosslink coil and run out the door.

I sit up as the lights go out, trying to get my hands untied. Where Sawscale learned to tie knots so well, I don’t know, but I can’t get my hands free. I hear Copperhead try to figure out why the lights aren’t working. He gets into a crosslink battle with Sawscale and the lights alternate between on and off. It’s disorienting.  Sawscale shorts the lights with an infinite loop and everything goes black.

I stand up and run into the observation room to see he’s already run off to confront Sawscale.

I start looking for them in the dark.

Someone kicks me in the back and I go down on my knees. The damned chemlight.

The attacker bounces off and swears when they find out who I am.

It was Copperhead, “Agent Boomslang, I am so sorry.”

“No worries. Better safe than sorry.” I growl, “Untie me.”

He has an easier time of it than I did. He holds the chemlight in front of him so we can see each other.

“Where’s Sidewinder?” I ask.

“Office, mate.”

“Stick close….” We start walking toward Sidewinder’s office.

“I’ve seen too many damned horror movies for this.”

“Sawsale is tough, Copper, but not the monster you and Cas keep making them out to be.”

He laughs nervously, “Easy for you to say, mate, you’ve done this before.”

He keeps looking at the crosslink schematics, undoing damage as Sawscale causes it.  

“Where are they, Copper?”

“Hard to tell, mate, they’ve either got a clean sneak or they’ve blended in with the civilians.”

“Clever bastard.”

“Wouldn’t they recognize a fellow agent?”

“No. Liaisons are called that because they act as go-betweens for us and both clients and our non-agents. We’re encapsulated.”

“So we have no options if we ever wanted to leave.”

I turn to look at him curiously. He gets this look like he accidentally offended me.

“Very astute, Agent Copperhead.” I’d never thought about it that way.

A noose made out of cat V cable loops around his neck and yanks hard. He chokes as he vanishes into darkness.

And I find myself in a horror movie.  I kick the chemlight down the hall, hoping to see something. I don’t; they’ve ducked into a room. 

“Sawscale….” I tell the darkness, “Please do not kill Copperhead. He doesn’t deserve it.”

“Since you asked so nicely, Boom….”

Copperhead screams and Sidewinder comes running. Sidewinder brandishes a knife and presses into my back.

“We need to evacuate the civilians.” I say.

“I already informed them of the intruder, Agent Boomslang. They are barricading themselves in the office.”

Sawscale speaks and it’s hard to pinpoint their voice, “I can see in the dark, can y’all?”

“They’ve got Copper.” I say.

Sidewinder doesn’t care, “How very unfortunate for him.”

I hear struggling, then Copperhead’s choked scream again. Then a whimper and he goes quiet.

“Sawscale?” I call out.

Nothing.

“How is Sawscale overpowering Copper with one arm?”

“They can still hold things with their broken arm, brother; they can’t move their elbow or wrist.”

“Let’s go. They’re going to steal a horse, I bet.”

“Thematically fitting, but a vehicle would get them farther.”

We walk in a stack with me in the lead and Sidewinder watching our backs. He’s out of practice; he hasn’t had to stack up with anybody since Mexico, but he moves gracefully and his steps are nearly silent.

I am well aware that I have only my hands with which to defend myself. They’re considerable hands, but still. Also, I don’t want to risk actually hurting Sawscale or Sawscale hurting anybody else.

“Can they get it open with just a crosslink?” I ask.

“They’re probably looking for their things, right now. And no, they need the crosslink and a wirejack.”

“Where’s the wirejack?”

The door opens in my face at about the speed and force of a lorry. I’m knocked down to my shoes, stunned. Sidewinder looks around for Sawscale, but it’s pointless. Saw doesn’t need to be anywhere near us.

“My office.”

Sidewinder rushes to his office and a form is thrown in front of him. Copperhead and Sidewinder tumble to the floor together. I get to my feet as Sawscale steps out, wearing their hypertrousers, their dropshot on their shoulders, and Sidewinder’s shirt. I’ve never been so terrified of ten gallon hats in my life.

“Stay down, Boom. I don’t want to hurt none of y’all.” They have their heel on Sidewinder’s neck and Copperhead on a leash made of cat V cable. The wire is tied around his neck and his wrists. He can’t get up without Sawscale dragging him to his feet.

“Nighty night, _amigo_.” Sawscale stomps Sidewinder in the face.

“You know I can’t let you walk out of here, Saw.”

“Night, Boom.” They flip a lightswitch and I’m taken to the floor again with the door. They drop my mobile and crosslink coil on the floor, then kick me in the solar plexus. The pain radiates from my gut into my chest and arms, leaving me gasping.

Sawscale drags Copperhead to his feet with the wire and drags him along with them, “Where’s your car?”

“Aren’t you going to steal a horse?”

“Cause I’m a cowboy?” They laugh, “That’s a hanging offense in Texas. Not that you’d actually get hanged for stealing a horse in Texas. Thought about it, though.”

My head is swimming as I try to suck in air.  Sidewinder holds his face and sits up. His turban has come undone; it’s coiled around his neck. He puts his Kandahari cap back on and goes through the process of wrapping his hair back into his turban.

“They are so dead.” He promises me.


	16. Violence is Golden

I get to my apartment and my neighbor hisses at me from behind the door. It’s the same guy Hightower had offered to kill for me.

“Conway!” He exclaims in that hissing stage-whisper. I stop and turn to him. His face is as white as a sheet.

“What’s going on?”

“Some dude in a tie-dyed hat and a Hawaiian shirt asked me earlier where you lived. He said his name was Jeff and he was an old friend from school.”

“Tie-dyed hat and Hawaiian shirt?” My blood runs cold but I keep my face neutral. No sense in freaking the guy out worse than he already is.

“Yeah, he had a beard and sunglasses. I told him I had no idea who he was talking about.”

“Good work. I really appreciate it.”

“Should I call the police?”

“Where did he go?”

“Upstairs.” He pointed, “Be honest, is he one of your spy friends or something?”

“No, not a friend. Stay out of sight; this could get ugly. I’ll call the police if I need them.”

“Thanks for the tip.” He tries to shut the door on me, but I hold it open with my foot, “And if the fire alarm goes off, just run away. Don’t take anything with you, you won’t have time. Throw yourself out the window if you have to, just fucking run. Looks like a hippie, _is not a hippie_. He _will hurt you_.”

“Got it.” I let him close the door.

I walk to my apartment to see it untouched. Even still, I tread carefully and check for any place he might be hiding. My phone rings and I don’t recognize the number. I answer it.

Cottonmouth says, “I know you can’t see my face, bro, so I want you to know I’m not smiling.”

“Small miracles, I guess.” I quip, “Where are you?”

“Ha ha. Close, motherfucker, close. I got a game I want to play, maybe start smiling again.”

“You won’t have much to smile about once I’m done with your organization. You seem upset. Pissed about me messing around with your girlfriend?”

He laughs, “ _This_ big-dicked motherfucker! Take down three agents and you think you’ve toppled an agency. Bro, there’s more to women than just wanting to fuck or kill them, you know. I’m beyond the flesh and thus got no use for your charms. So, whatever you did to Saw and Di won’t work on me.”

“Yeah, because you know how irresistible I find you.”

“Keep the jokes coming, man, I need some humor in all this. Addie and Di like you, bro, that’s why you’re even still able to talk. But with her out of commission -by you, by the way-, I’m the acting leader. And I want to play a game.”

“You told me. What are the rules?”

“Simple, bro. I’ve hidden bombs all over East Point. Enough to bring the entire city to its knees. You got four hours and twenty minutes to find and disable them all. Missing any is going hurt you a lot more than it’ll hurt me. And you’d better have something better than that script-kiddie bullshit you used to bring down our network or I suggest you leave the city to us and get to stepping.”

“You call me a script-kiddie and yet it’s your network that was taken down? Right. Okay, where are the bombs?”

“Figure it out.”

“How many do I have to find?”

“All of them.”

“How many bombs are there?”

“Just told you, bro, enough to cripple the city. Time starts now, so I suggest you figure something out. Peace out, girl scout.”

He disconnected.  

I call Mayfield as I turn my computer on (After checking it for tampering).

“Ngh, Conway?” He asks groggily. I start up a program, looking at my call log.

“Agent Cottonmouth just called in a bomb threat. Multiple targets. All set to go off in about four hours.”

“I’m up.” I can hear him getting dressed, “For this to be any sort of game, he has to be using cellphone initiated IEDs. East Point’s got too many tall buildings for anything that requires line of sight and too big for him to be using command wire.”

“I’m working on cracking his phone now; I took down their VPN, so he’s not using the one connected to his codename. As soon as I get his contact list, I’ll send them to you.”

“I’m spinning up my cyber guys right now. Keep me posted.” He disconnects.

Because they’ll be helpful. But any help is better than no help. I call Rooke.

“Conway! I was just about to call you!” She sounds far away, so I must be on speaker.

“Me first.” I tell her everything I just told Mayfield.

“Rickie!” It’s Sawscale. I almost drop the phone in surprise, “Couple things: Cotton won’t attack schools, hospitals, and usually won’t go for infrastructure. Remember that. Second thing; he goes in a pattern. You ain’t got time to disable every single bomb by yourself; if you get the pattern down, you can figure out where they all are and have the bomb squad take care of it.”

“Or I could catch Cotton.”

“He won’t talk, but I got someone who might.”

I hear shouting from somewhere in the room and Sawscale yelling something. The shouting stops.

“The hell is going on?! How did you escape and who the hell are you-?!“”-Later! Find the bombs first, then we’ll talk about me, okay?”

“He said he’ll bring the city to its knees.”

“Government buildings are his favorite targets. Throw in some commercial, and you got plenty to hurt people with. He doesn’t know I’m out, so he doesn’t know we’re talking. We’ve got an advantage.”

“Let me call you back; I’m going to set up a network so we can all talk.”

I bring Mayfield in on the session.

“Glad to see you’re back, Officer-” Mayfield says their last name with a bit of mischief.

“Just threw up in my mouth, sir.”

I kind of thought it had a nice ring to it.  

Then he’s serious, “Everyone, be advised I called the state’s bomb squad; they said they’ll get here in about eight hours. Four more than we have. I’m talking to their lieutenant now.”

Great.

The sniffing program gives me control of his phone and I steal his contacts. Lots of numbers. Dozens, maybe hundreds. This is bulky; there is too much data and too many buildings and not enough time.

I pull up a map of East Point with labels and start looking for his favorite targets. Even if I narrowed it down to just commercial and government buildings, there are still way too many targets.

Rooke speaks, “If you can just disable his phones and get a location for the bombs, we can let the cops handle it.”

“Unless he has a backup initiator.” Mayfield reminds her.

“He won’t.” Sawscale says, “If he actually sets off the bombs, he’ll bring the fucking fed right down on them. He doesn’t want that.”

“Is he bluffing?”

“No…probably not. He’s playing to lose.”

I find out where his handset is; he’s within five hundred feet of me. Close, motherfucker, close.

I could track him down and try to get him to talk, but confrontation with snakes is a bad idea. There’d be nothing stopping him from just setting off bombs until I played along.

I start working on all of his contacts, “How many bombs can he reasonably be expected to have?”

“A dozen? Two dozen maybe?”

Most of the numbers belong to inactive phones, they’re all powered off. The ones that do work pop up in seemingly random parts of the city. A pattern starts to emerge that I’d actually laugh if it wasn’t so serious.

Cottonmouth had set the bombs in the shape of a smiley face. I take a picture and send it out.

I hate to ask, “Saw, how messed up are you?”

“Arm aside, I’m great, hoss. Where am I going?”

“You two are going to take out the bombs yourselves?” Mayfield asks.

Sawscale says this gently, “You’d probably just get in the way, sir.”

“I know.” He replies bitterly.

“Saw, you take the Northwest half, I’ll take the Southwest.”

“You don’t got to call me that anymore.” They say darkly, “I have a real name. And why do you get more bombs than me?”

“We’re still fighting the people that took your real name. Also, I have more working arms than you.”

“Points taken. Watch out for anti-tampering devices.”

Rooke finally speaks, “Good luck, everyone.”

I check the time; I have three hours left.

 

* * *

 

  
The first bomb is a lot smaller than I thought it’d be. Just a few bricks of mysterious explosive taped to the wall with a cheap cellphone and wires coming out of it. Since I was probably already close enough to die from it going off, I step closer.

“Anybody got any tips on disarming bombs?” I ask, trying to sound confident.

“If you pull the cellphone off, it can’t go off.” Mayfield reminds me.

Sawscale interjects, “If you pull the cellphone, a second initiator is going to set it off.”

“What do I do?”

Mayfield, “Take out both initiators. Carefully.”

“Cellphone initiator means they’re electric, Rickie. You got gloves? The heat from your hands can set them off.”

“Yeah, I got gloves.”

“Dig under the explosive and carefully push the blasting caps out of the material. Then set them down gently. They shouldn’t go off, but then again….”

“Right.”

The explosive itself is like grainy molding clay and smells sweet, almost like marzipan.

I turn my head as I peel back explosive away from what looks like the ink reservoir to a ballpoint pen. I set the first one down carefully, then gently peel away explosive from the second one.

I laugh nervously, “Okay, that wasn’t so bad….”

There’s a note on the back of the phone. It’s handwritten in ballpoint pen.

_“Good job! Remember that calm is the key!”_

He also drew himself giving me two thumbs up.

“Hey, Saw, are you getting these weird-?” “Handwritten letters of encouragement from the guy trying to blow us up? Yes. I’m saving them.”

I stuff the note into my pocket and make a mad dash to the next bomb.

 

* * *

 

 

I should have let Sawscale take the bulk of the bombs; they were working a lot faster than I was. In the dark recesses of my mind, I wondered how they got so experienced handling them.

_That’s what you’re trying to save them from. So they don’t have to do it anymore._

They have fewer close calls than I do, too. The last bomb had a mercury-tilt switch attached to a tertiary blasting cap that made digging through the explosive particularly nerve-wracking.

The one before that had several pull-fuses wired all over the room. If I had tripped any of these wires, the bomb would’ve gone off. Just to get to it took several minutes crawling and gently unfixing wire.

It took entirely too long and in my haste I tossed the last fuse into the pile, setting them all off in a shower of fireworks.  It freaked everyone else out almost as much it scared me.

I’m pressed for time and I can’t rush.

A flash of purple tries to catch me around the waist as soon as I’m out of the building; I jump over it. With less than two hours left, I really don’t have time.

She has that psychotic look on her face, but I can tell she’s afraid. She swings her nightstick around, ready to break one of my limbs with it. I stuff my hands in my pockets, “I do not have time for this, Cascavel.”

She sucks her teeth, “You’d better make time, Conway. You’re cheating.”

“Cheating?! Like this is some motherfucking game?”

“You’re using outside help. That’s cheating.”

“Your boss never said I couldn’t.”

I should just shoot her.

Sawscale speaks, “That Cascavel? Let me talk to her. Put me on speaker.”

“Saw, we don’t have time for this.”

“You’re talking to Sawscale?!”

“We’ll make time. It’s important.”

I trust Sawscale. I take my earpiece out and put my phone on speaker, “Sawscale wants to talk to you.”

“Talk to me?” She doesn’t look like an agent anymore, even with hypertrousers, just confused and nervous. I hold the phone out in front of me so she can hear Sawscale.

“Yeah, make it quick. Time is explosions.”

“Agent Cascavel.” She says nervously.

“How you doing, sugar? The other agents ain’t giving you too much trouble are they?”

“The other agents? No. When did you escape?”

“Listen, I’m kind of pressed for time and I need my wits about me, but I’ll explain later, okay? Leave Conway alone for now, sugar; Conway and I got to keep your boss from bringing the fed down on y’all’s heads. But, if you ever need to talk about anything, come hit me up later.”

“Talk about what?”

“Anything you’re not comfortable talking with the agents with or if you need help.”

“Um, okay….” She sounds very young.

“Can you do a favor for me?”

“I don’t know, maybe? What is it?”

“Keep an eye on Di and Boom for me, will you? I worry.”

“Um…okay. I-I’ll do that.”

“I got to go now, sugar. Take care.”

“Okay, um, you too.”

I take the phone back and check the time, “Go home, Cascavel.”

 

* * *

 

I make it back to my apartment stinking of bomb residue and well-aware that it was too easy. He wasn’t doing that to teach me proper explosive-ordinance disposal.

Sawscale, “Well that was fun.”

“Yeah, sure. Great. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than disable bombs with almost no training whatsoever.”

“I’m on my way to your place, Rickie. I got a present for you. Think you going to like it.”

“Is it going to hurt?”

They laugh, “Nah. See you then.”

They hang up.

I walk into my apartment and Cottonmouth catches me in the gut and throws me into my coffee table. I kick him into the ceiling, but it doesn’t seem to do anything. I get to my feet just as he puts his sunglasses and hat back on. I think he glares at me for a second before jumping off the ground at me, throwing the both of us at my window and we’re airborne in a world of shattered glass.

I’d be impressed he could throw us through the window without hypertrousers if it wasn’t my window he threw us through.

I land on my back as he lands on his feet, falls, and rolls back to his feet. I get to mine, ready.

“What is your deal, bro?” He asks, also in a fighting stance.

“The fact that you threw yourself out of a fourth story window and landed on your feet is impressive.” I’m seriously impressed. I throw a punch he catches. He uses my momentum against me and I’m on the ground with his knee in my neck.

“You know a lot of people say they aren’t violent. We call those people liars. They rely on violence every day.”

“Your philosophical diatribes only make you look crazier, I want you to know that.” I grab his ankle and twist it so he falls back on his ass. He scissor-kicks me away and is on his feet. It was too easy to think he wasn’t much of an agent with the way he looked, but the way he moved gave him away; lithe and graceful. I bet behind those sunglasses was the same impersonal hardness I was just beginning to soften in Hightower and Sawscale.

“Rules not backed by violence are just suggestions, bro. Order demands violence, every rule is written in blood.” I see a golden metallic glint behind him, hidden in the alleyway.

“Everything’s a fucking travesty with you guys, isn’t it?” I can’t get in close with his weird judo-moves. He keeps me at arm’s length while he tries to take me down with kicks.

“States rely on laws enforced by those ready to do violence against lawbreakers. We’re just a different kind of law enforcement.”  He tries to hook my knee, so I lock it out and step back. His momentum carries him forward and he bounces on one foot, then catches my knee.

Specifically, he catches the knee joint of my hypertrousers and takes me to the ground. That side of my leg lights up in blue and blinks. Mechanical fault.

I’m off balance with one leg working and the other not, the disconnected joints are held together by the LED strip and some wiring. I’m not hurt, but I am limping. I can fix it, just not now.

“How do you figure that?”

“For a fee, we agents enforce personal laws. You’re the same way. Anybody that hires us implicitly states that the enforcement of their will requires violence. We’re what happens when people stop asking nicely.” He demonstrates his point by kicking me in the face. I bounce into the wall, but I grab his ankle and twist. He’s not as fast as Hightower, so it takes him to the ground. He gets up just as I try elbow dropping him.

“What can I say? It’s a dangerous city. You guys stopped asking me nicely back when Coachwhip was around.” I turn the hypertrousers off so that I’m balanced again. Still, the loose parts are dangling irritatingly against my leg and it’s throwing me off.

“We appealed to your better nature, bro, but you asked the final question, ‘or else what?’”  He lashes out suddenly, grabbing me into a strange hug while he knees me in the gut. I grab the straps on his backback and yank up. The backpack slides off his shoulders and trap his arms. I sweep his arms away and grab his mobile from his pocket. I push him away and he drops his backpack.  

“And your final answer is-“We say this in unison, _“violence.”_

“You understand perfectly, brother.”

“What’s the blast radius of that suicide bomb of yours?”

“Why you ask?”

I show him his mobile and the color runs from what little of his face I can see.

“Damn, bro. You got me.” He raises his hands, “But aren’t you in the blast radius, too? You don’t know for sure.  Maybe my bomb’s the size of a grenade, and you’re safe. Maybe I’ve filled my backpack up with explosive and this entire block’s going down. You don’t know.”

“You’re not as crazy as you like to make people think you are. You’re an anarchist and a terrorist that thinks might makes right. You don’t want to die and too much explosive would be cumbersome.” Even as I say this, I’m backing away. He picks up his backpack and follows me, smiling again and chuckling.

If I kill Cottonmouth, I kill myself.

I raise my hands, keeping my fingers off the touch screen. I don’t want to drop it, but I don’t want to set his final answer off either. I have to keep him focused on me.

He tells me, “Moral and ethical arguments can appeal to reason and emotion. People are certainly moved by these things, brother, but that always creates a vulnerability to people that just plain don’t follow social and ethical norms.”

“Like you snakes.”

“More like the people that would use our services. And yours.”

“Still not listening to you, brother.” I say.

“That’s why we’re here!” He laughs, “With action, you say, ‘I’m going to take these agents and run my own operations in East Point, what are you going to do about it?’”

“And this is your answer.”

“This is my _final_ answer.”

Mayfield throws himself at Cotton from out of nowhere and kicks at his legs, yelling, “East Point PD! On the motherfucking ground!”

Cottonmouth screams at Mayfield, “Fascist! _Schutzstafel!_ Swine! Fucking crooked-ass pawn of the state!”

Mayfield rolls his eyes as he reads him his rights and handcuffs him, “Worst egg hunt ever, huh?”

Cottonmouth lifts his head, “ _Best_ egg hunt ever, man!”

I light up a cigarette in relief, “Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.”


	17. Strange

The network is down, so I don’t find out about Cottonmouth until Cascavel tells us. She’s so afraid of us she’s practically in tears. I don’t know where she got this idea to be afraid of me, but I’m practically a liaison myself since Diamondback’s got his hands full.  I sort of want to smack her and tell her to get a hold of herself.

When I tell her what happened on our end, she really does start crying.

“He’s practically decapitated us!” She wails, “They’re going to kill Copperhead, I know it!”

“Get a hold of yourself, woman!” I bark as well as I can, since I can’t exactly yell anymore (thanks, Conway), “We’ve got four agents down, this is no time for tears!”

She does her best to stop the waterworks. Sidewinder leans his head back and speaks gently, “All is not lost; Conway didn’t pull much from our servers.”

“Do we launch a counterattack?”

“That _was_ the counterattack.” He narrows his eyes at me, “Boomslang, how did Sawscale get past you?”

“They threw a table into my face, mate!” I said defensively, “And they are quite good with knots.”

Sidewinder growls, “This is like Diamondback all over again. I have agents that won’t attack the enemy and said enemy doesn’t care about anything other than causing as much pain and misery to us as possible.”

He points to the both of us, “Your misplaced compassion is going to kill you both. If you think I am going to save you from Death Adder or Diamondback, you are sorely mistaken.”

We speak in unison, “Fuck.”

“Nobody in ISHTAR is pure or innocent. We are all here because we’ve killed at least one person. Do not forget that when dealing with traitors and do not forget that we all deserve to die.”

“What do we do about Copperhead and Cottonmouth?” I ask.

“They knew the risks when they joined us. Either they escape on their own or die trying.”

Cascavel wants to argue, but keeps her mouth shut.

“Well, mate,” I shrug, “you’re in charge until Death Adder wakes up.”

“Yes, I am. With the VPN down, we’re reduced to email and simple text messages. Speaking of which….” He checks his mobile, “Mark tells me that both Death Adder and Diamondback are awake and lucid, but don’t wish to be bothered.”

“Gross.” I wrinkle my nose.

“I’ll update Death Adder on our failures. I pray Diamondback or Jackson keeps her in a good mood.”

That’s even worse, “What do we do until then?”

“I’m thinking of bringing in reinforcements from our less promising missions.”

I give him a look, “Who do we _possibly_ have to spare?”

“Black Asp. Or perhaps Sidestripe or Canebrake. Maybe Goldring.”

“You need to get out of the office more, mate. Diamondback got Black Asp in Aspen. Sidestripe got sideswiped and drove into a tree.  Canebrake broke both legs on mission. And Goldring….” I paused for emphasis and made a pistol out of my hand, “shot himself.”

Cascavel chokes back a giggle.

His face is turning red, “How many agents do we have left?!”

“Non-liaisons to include us? About twenty. We have nobody to spare; everyone is on mission. And don’t even think about cancelling any missions. We’d look like shit if we did that.”

“Diamondback…!” He growls.

He puts his hand to his forehead and mutters a prayer to himself in Arabic before saying, “No wonder she’s recruiting so hard. How do you know so much about the other agents?”

“I do a lot of admin things for Diamondback. Keeping Death Adder happy is sort of a full-time job for him.”

Just like juggling loyalty full-time job for me.

He sighs and gets himself under control, “Get some sleep, both of you. I’m sure we’ll have some sort of plan for tomorrow.”

This night had taken a lot out of us. Conway really did have a special way of fucking people that fucked him first.

I speak gently, “Come on, Cas; let’s just go home.”

“We don’t have homes.” She reminds me miserably.

I rub her back, “It’s safer for us to stick together; we’re going to my apartment.”

“Yeah…I really don’t….” She doesn’t finish her thought. My first real mission with ISHTAR was difficult and dangerous, sure. All the missions were. This one, though, it’s _mentally_ stressing. Even _I’m_ feeling the strain.

Mark isn’t there when we return.

“You can have the bed.” I tell her as I remove my dropshot.  Neither one of us feels like sleeping in Mark’s bed. Lord only knows what he does in there. Also, it’d be a little rude.

“What about you?”  She hangs hers up.

“Couch.”

“I don’t think you’ll be able to sleep comfortably. We can share it.”

I give her a look. She grabs extra pillows and blankets and makes a line across the middle, “Here. This is the demarcation border of celibacy. Absolutely nothing crosses this line.”

I roll my eyes, “Fine.”

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning I find her curled against my chest, and a text on my mobile from Death Adder. It gives me an address and orders me to come alone as soon as possible. I leave a note for Cascavel.

“Heard Conway and Sawscale got the better of you like I wouldn’t find out. >;3”

I walk into Death Adder and Diamondback’s shared house with a distinct feeling of dread. I failed to keep Sawscale contained and I lost Copperhead. I can only hope for his sake Sawscale keeps their relatively new principles.  

Their two dropshots are hanging up in the hall and Diamondback’s is open toward me. I see his shoulder holster hanging inside and notice Sawscale’s pistol clipped into the belt with his Mauser. I guess he bought a belt holster for it. I want to take it, but I know Diamondback would notice and he’d certainly know it was me.

I see Mark laying on the couch, white as a sheet and catatonic. If it wasn’t for the slight movement of his chest, I’d think he was dead. I don’t want to think of what he’s seen. Sure, I’ve seen some horrible things, done a few horrible things myself, but Mark isn’t an agent. He’s…I’m not sure where he fits in with us, to be honest. Recruit?

I shudder.

“Morning, Mark.” I manage to say as I walk past him. He doesn’t respond.

I hear Death Adder talking from the kitchen and Diamondback reply. I follow the voices, stepping as softly as I can.  

The first thing I notice is a man tied to a chair missing most of his head. I find the rest of it behind him, cooled and stinking on the linoleum or splattered on the wall.

Death Adder’s at the counter, kneading dough. Diamondback is pressed into her back, wearing just sweatpants. More of his tattoos are touched up, this time his upper back.

Death Adder is also just wearing sweatpants. With both of them topless, I can see her own tattoos, more or less matching Di’s.  Her skin is as rough with burns and scars as his, too. I can see bits of mangled tattoos that didn’t survive the massive surgery it took to revive her.

“It’s getting all sticky; I can’t work with it.”

“Your hands are melting the butter,” he says gently into her hair, “wrap it up and put in the freezer for a few hours.” He pulls her hands away and gently scraps the dough from her hands.

Well, I found a situation that is more awkward than those two fighting.

“Ma’am? You rang?”

“Mm, Boom, is that you?” She turns to me and Diamondback wraps an arm around her chest so I can’t see anything. As perfectly reconstructed as they are, I wouldn’t look even if he didn’t. 

I focus on the dead man beside me, keeping them both in my peripheral. Even well-fed snakes bite. Di is giving me this strange, glassy-eyed glare while Death Adder smirks, keeping one hand on his. If either one is still feeling the aftereffects of whatever Conway doped them with, they don’t show it.

“Sidewinder tells me Saw’s escaped.”

“They have. Took Copper with them.” No sense in lying. I’m a terrible liar. Not good for practicing law.

I suppose that’s why I’m here.

Diamondback keeps most of his face in Adder’s hair. He snorts and chuckles a bit, “Copper’s fucked.”

“Now, Di, give him some time. You’ve returned every time someone stole you.”

He replies, kissing the back of her neck, “I believe the term is ‘kidnapped’.”

“I mean what I said, Di.” She smiles dangerously at me. I can see her debating on what to do with me. She can’t really afford to kill me, assuming she’s thinking of that, and yet she seems to blame me for Sawscale’s escape. I might get out of this only a little roughed up.

“How fucked is Copper, Boom?”

“Sawscale probably won’t kill him; they have no reason to.”

“They have no reason to keep him alive, either.” Adder reminds me.

_Sawscale doesn’t get off on killing people, unlike you two; you fucking freaks._

The way Diamondback is hanging on to her actually sickens me. I really do feel sick. Maybe it’s nerves or maybe it’s the corpse in the room, but I’m pretty sure it’s how he acts around her. Why does Sawscale want to save this lost cause, anyway? Love? Love would tell them to make it quick and painless. They don’t honestly think he can be saved, do they?

I mean, sure, he has his moments (getting fewer and farther between lately), but…I can’t even say that’s the old Diamondback anymore. The old Diamondback died in Agua Dulce and that thing that came back, staring at me now, is just a copy of Death Adder. He’s a puppet that acts in her place. For fuck’s sake, they look like they could be siblings.

Okay, that’s a horrible image and for that I apologize.

Sawscale and I should just run for it. We can take Conway, too, if Saw wants. This entire place stinks and these snakes only make things worse. Together, the three of us could make things unpleasant if they wanted to chase us.

Fuck me, there’s that glint in her eyes. It’s the one she gets when she’s thinking of destroying people.

I can’t figure out if this is intentional, but Diamondback comes to my rescue; he gives her a squeeze and talks into her ear, “Sawscale probably won’t hurt him too badly. If anything, they’ll humiliate him a bit and send him walking back in a dress. It’s not like Copperhead has vital secrets.”

“That sounds like something they’d do. Where do you think they went, Boom?”  

“Rooke’s or Conway’s.”

There’s wherever they were sleeping before they were picked up, but I leave that out.

“Think we should bend our rules a bit, Di? Send Cas to monitor the situation?”

“Cas’s loyalty is faltering. Copper thinks they’re some sort of country-fried demon; Cas think’s the coolest fucking thing in the world. I don’t want those two exposed to Sawscale any more than absolutely necessary.”

Her eyes burn my face, “Good point. It’s hard to discipline Cas with Sawscale actively recruiting traitors.”

“At any rate, Sawscale isn’t going anywhere; you’re here. You know how much your very existence offends them.”

“If it weren’t for me, they’d be dead. And they wouldn’t have used those pronouns, either. Just another crooked cop victim of the drug war.”

“You had a good run with them; they were a great agent.”

“But what I’m wondering, Boom, is how they escaped with you in the room? Misplaced compassion?”

“I didn’t let them go, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, if I thought that was the case, you’d be dead.”

How does a woman half my size intimidate me so much?

“Sawscale’s sneaky like that, Addie.” Diamondback says gently, hugging her tight, “They’re almost as good at manipulating as you.”

“Almost.” She admits, “How’s Cottonmouth?”

“Jail.”

Fury crosses Death Adder’s face for a second, so sudden and violent I almost recoil. She closes her eyes and becomes serene again as Diamondback bites her neck gently.

Diamondback is staring at the floor in thought, “So, he’s pretty much out of commission. That’s two liaisons he’s taken down.”

“Cottonmouth made a big mistake, going overt like that.” Death Adder says, “He can deal with the fallout himself. So, that’s one little snakey taken care of; good work, Conway.”

My blood runs cold. Death Adder walks out of Diamondback’s arms, stepping toward me.

“It’s hard not to question your loyalty, Boom. Maybe you didn’t mean to go easy on Saw, but I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t have had any trouble keeping them contained. Especially with a broken arm.”

She grabs my wrists between her thumbs and two fingers, taking my pulse. She waits a few seconds before asking, “Did you let Sawscale escape?”

“No.”

She has these pregnant pauses between questions, “Did you warn Conway away from the racetrack?”

“No.”

“Have you been working with Conway?”

Before I can answer, a cold pain scrapes my neck and my shoulder is soaked. I clutch my neck and turn to see Diamondback holding an arrow. He drives the arrow right into my shoulder, right below my collar.

I stumble back just as shock sets in. He rips it right back out, “Remember this?”

Oh, I remember that arrow.

His voice is chilly and his face is blank. One hell of a way to stop an interrogation. Death Adder grabs the arrow out of his hand, laughing and hugging him around the waist, “Stop! We don’t have enough agents to just waste them all!”  

I’m clutching my shoulder and neck. It doesn’t feel like he stuck me too badly. I tighten my scarf as much as I can without choking myself.

“Exception to policy, time, Boom. Get Copperhead back before Sawscale turns them.”

I struggle to talk, “No problem, mate.”

He makes this little walking motion with his fingers, “Now.”

Death Adder is positively delighted at this show of aggression. She’s nuzzling his back.

I stumble out of the kitchen and I’m out of the house.

I need to find Conway _and_ Sawscale.


	18. Dust

I change out of my hypertrousers with the intention of fixing them as soon as possible. I have a feeling I need to be ready for combat at all times now that I’ve bested three liaisons.

I was taping the tarp back across my window pane when Sawscale knocked. It was a good thing I kept it. Before I did that, I spray-painted the words ‘NO THRU TRAFFIC’ and an angry face across it.

They pull me into a big hug, smiling wide. I hug back, shaking with relief. They’re wearing their dropshot over their shoulders, since they can’t seem to fit the sleeve over their cast.

“They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“Nah, not too bad. Just a bunch of dumb questions. Hell happened to your window?”

“Cotton.”

They laugh as they read it, “Anyway, I got a present for you. Think you going to like it. It’s downstairs, I need help getting it inside.”

They take me to this beaten-up car they probably stole and pop the truck.

Copperhead winced and blinked in confusion until he recognized me, then his face was white. He was tied up with cat v cable and struggled to get free. He moves to hyperjump out of the trunk, but I reach over and turn his hypertrousers off. The color makes me think of a very masculine Sawscale.  

“Saw, what the fuck?”

Sawscale’s blond hair and expectant smile calls to mind a golden retriever I had as a kid once, “Like it? Rooke said I couldn’t keep him at her place.”

I laugh nastily, “Yeah, Saw, I like it. Let’s get him inside before someone asks why we have a man tied up in your trunk.”

We drag him out together and he doesn’t put up much of a fight. Rather, he looks around, trying to get his bearings. I force his head down so all he can see is the concrete and more or less drag him upstairs. I’m shorter than he is, but I’m definitely stronger.

“If you scream, I’ll plug you.” I warn, “The cops aren’t on your side, remember that.”

He swallows his spit and lets me yank him around like a doll while Sawscale leads him around on a leash made of cable. I feel like a total asshole, but he hasn’t done much to earn my sympathy lately.

I mean, I haven’t done much in the way of hurting him except when we first met, so I don’t know where he got the idea to be afraid of me. I wonder if someone had told them stories about me. We sit him down in my living room and I dare him with my eyes to jump out the window. I grab a screwdriver and get started on my coffee table, again. I need some work space.

“What do you want to do with him, Rickie?”

“What’s stopping us from killing him?”

“Now, now, Rickie, we can’t waste valuable resources like that.”

“ISHTAR won’t negotiate for him and he’s really no good to us alive.”

“Good cop, bad cop?” Copperhead asks, “If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with. I’m not wild about what the liaisons have in store when I get back.”

“What will they do to you?” I ask.

Sawscale answers for him, “Depends on Addie’s mood. He could get off with some verbal humiliation, or she could kill him to set an example to the other agents.”

They speak to Copperhead, “Given how badly Conway whooped y’all’s asses, you better hope she just kills you, because she probably got something else planned.”

“Like what?”

“Well….” Sawscale unbuttons their shirt sleeve. I knew their arms were scarred up, but the sheer number of scars surprises me.  There’s an entire constellation of cigarette burns on their forearm. I recognize a few of the scars, like the arrow wound. Some look self-inflicted, but I can’t know for sure they weren’t either made to injure themselves or made to look like they did, “You’re a cis white guy, so I’m pretty sure she won’t get _sexually_ violent with you, but you can never be too sure with Addie….”

I’m pretty sure that constituted a threat; regardless of how Saw meant to say it and regardless if it was true.

Copperhead stares at Sawscale’s scars, “I understand ‘cis’ and I understand ‘trans’, but how do you figure a human, a mammal, can be something in between male and female?”

I expect Sawscale to beat the hell out of Copperhead for that remark, but all they do is laugh.

“Now, hoss,” they say, removing their hat and dropshot, “The only difference between male-“ –their voice starts to raise in pitch and soften-“and female-“ –they walked toward him, slowly changing their walk by emphasizing the movement of their hips. They sat beside him on the couch, curving their spine toward him, crossing their ankles, and keep their knees together- “-is perception.”

They give him this sly, half-lidded smile.  Copperhead recoils in shock, blushing. It’s a record-skip in my brain, too, as my entire perception changes. My brain immediately reads them as a woman and it’s impossible to see them as anything else.

They lean back on my couch, spread their legs, plant their feet, and slouch over. Their voice drops almost a full octave as they said, “See how easy it is? Just a parlor trick.”

And my perception flips again and I can’t see them as anything other than a man.

I squeak out, “Witchcraft!”

They look at me and laugh. They reset into a sort of halfway of the two extremes and stop playing tricks with my brain.

They give Copperhead a look over, “Heh, gold hypertrousers?”

“Thank you! At least someone sees that they’re gold.”

“You know who you look like?”

“Who?”

“General Custer. Those gold stripes make me think of Civil War cavalry scouts. You should wear more blue; it’d look nice on you.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

“Next question, _Agkistrodon Contortrix,_ was Pancho Villa a good guy or a bad guy?”

“Er…I’m not sure who that is.” Cotton desperately wants to stop sharing a couch with this gender-bending cowpoke from Hell. He keeps inching away from them, flushed, until there’s no more couch. I’m ready to grab him before he tries jumping.

“Mexican revolutionary from the late twentieth century? Fought to overthrow the ridged hacienda system of Mexico? Conducted deadly raids in the Mexican desert and into the United States to fuel his army?”

“Um…I’m not familiar with your country’s history, but…neither?”

“Neither?” Sawscale folds their good arm under their broken one.

“Nobody’s really good or bad, when you think about it. We’re all villains to somebody.”  

“Hm.” Sawscale nods to themself, getting up and pacing.

“Did I answer correctly?” Copperhead asks.

“There was no wrong answer, hoss. It’s just something I ask to see what kind of person you are.”

“What kind of person am I?”

“I’ll ask the questions. Why do you keep pegging me as female?”

“You look a lot like my sister.”

Sawscale smiles wide, “Oh, lordy, she must be one hot mama. You got a picture?”

“I’ve heard about necrophilia before, but I thought even you freaks had standards.”  

“I set myself up for that one, didn’t I? My condolences.”

“I’m not supposed to answer personal questions.”

“No, you’re not. You’re supposed to lie.”

“Suppose I was.”

“You weren’t.”

“It’s not important information.” He told himself.

“Important to you.” They said gently, “I won’t ask any more personal questions, okay? This isn’t about information. I got that.”

“Then there _is_ a rat.”

Sawscale winked at him, “This isn’t an interrogation, high speed, this is an intervention.”

“An intervention?”

“People get pulled into ISHTAR’s black side when all hope is lost. In one moment, you’re a dead man walking, then they come along at the right moment to save you. Like it was preordained or they were watching the entire time. Because they were.”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Me neither. I promised, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never told anybody about the initiation and I suspect no other snake has either. I know about a few because I’ve been on some myself.” They glance at me, “So, I know how it works.” 

They paused, then spoke softly, _“Because you have done this, cursed are you more than all cattle, and more than every beast of the field; on your belly you will go, and dust you will eat all the days of your life.”_

“You’re really playing up the whole Texas thing, aren’t you?”

“By quoting the Bible? Sure, why not?” They shrug.

He surprises us, “I’ll do whatever you want if you stay away from Cascavel.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Stay away from Cascavel.”

“Why should I?”

“Stringing them along and putting them in danger isn’t helping. It’s just going to get them killed. I know you don’t reciprocate her feelings.”

Sawscale smiles like Copperhead gave them information he wasn’t expecting.  

“I won’t seek her out, but I won’t refuse her if she comes to me, deal?”

He pauses, looking at the floor, “Deal.”

I sneer at him, “Like you’re in any position to be making deals with anybody.”

I get my coffee table standing. I take my hypertrousers apart and put the pieces on the table, working off the manual.

“Sure, he is, hoss. Interrogation is all about making deals. But this isn’t an interrogation, it’s an intervention. This man needs our help.”

“Why would we help?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do. And it hurts Addie. And I am all about hurting Addie.”

“Yeah, me too.”

They turn their attention back to Copperhead, “That deal goes for you, too. If you need me, I’ll come running. Believe me.

“I don’t need any help from you.”

“Oh, no?” Sawscale walks to one of my shelves, “Thought I saw this when I trashed your apartment, Rickie….”

“What are you looking for?”

“A CD I thought you had. Almost stole it.”

“Which one?”

“The Introspectres, _Live at the Spit Valve_. Which was not actually recorded at the Spit Valve, by the way; they just named the album after the bar where they worked.”  

“How do you know that?”

They find it and open the case, putting the album on, “You like jazz, Copperhead?”

Piano music fills the apartment, followed by the bass. I hadn’t listened to the record in a while.

“Some stuff. The Introspecres was more ska, though. They almost got a break when they played with the Sultans of Swing. They got a record deal, then they all died when the Spit Valve burned down. The record was posthumous. Sells for quite a bit, now.”

“Hm, they all died, huh? You sure?”

Copperhead brings his legs up to protect himself from whatever game Sawscale is playing. They take the album sleeve out carefully and unfold it, laughing sadly.  Pointing to something, they show Copperhead, “Recognize him?”

He raises an eyebrow, “Not really.”

They shake their head sadly, “Kind of hard, to be honest. I don’t blame you.”

They put a piece of paper over the album sleeve and start tracing, “First, let’s get rid of the glasses, cut the hair, get rid of the goatee….Now add a hat and a trench coat….Recognize him now?”

Copperhead’s face blanched and his mouth hung open, “Oh my god…!”

I think for a minute Copperhead was going to have a panic attack, but he seems to keep it together.

“Bet you won’t ask for an autograph.”

“Bet you you’re right; safer to play with a rattlesnake.”

Sawscale’s tone turns somber and they stare into Copperhead’s eyes, “They saved your life; I know that. But you don’t give to be thanked. This is what you’re looking at if you even live to make it to that point. That’s all they have to offer you.”

With one hand, they pull the cable binding him and he’s free. Sawscale turns away from him, pointing to the window, “That’s all I have to say. You can go.”

Copperhead doesn’t wait for Sawscale to change their mind; he turns his hypertrousers back on and jumps out my window (ignoring my ban on thru traffic), and runs.

“Why did you do that? They don’t understand anything but violence.”

I go through the functions check on my hypertrousers and they work.

“I know that Rickie. I was one of them. My daddy didn’t name me ‘Sawscale’.”

“Then why even talk to him?”

“The first step is recognizing when you have a problem. The last step, without which you _will relapse_ , is helping others.”

I find myself singing along to the chorus and I lift my head to Sawscale, “There’s no fucking way that’s him singing is there?”

Sawscale looks at me like I’m crazy, “No! That’s Marcus Snow. He really is dead.”

They pause for a second, “We’re listening to _dead people_.”

“Not all of them are dead.” I remind them, then change the subject as I get up and walk to my computer, “I didn’t get much from the attack aside from their email contact list and roster. The rest is from Coachwhip’s computer.”

“I’m guessing that’s not much?”

“I think I can find ways of causing trouble.” I grin nastily.

I boot the image of Coachwhip’s laptop and their network lets me in. I don’t have much time since Sidewinder is on to that, but I don’t need to be on for long.

With my liaison privileges, I make myself a new codename. I look through their roster of snakes. The roster had the snake name and whether it was ‘Open’ or ‘Closed’.  There were more open spots than closed ones.

The file had every agent’s nationality, their sex, their gender, and what their specialty was. The notes section contained a few details about them. Out of context, a lot of them were funny. Boomslang’s command of language was impressive, to say the least. Where did he have the time to learn that many? At least I know what his nationality is. Someday, I’m going to ask where he’s from. 

Why is ISHTAR better at identifying what Sawscale is than the damned doctors that saved their life? I delete Sawscale’s nationality and replace it with ‘Texan’. They chuckle.

I make myself ‘Goldring’ and use their email. Sawscale writes out the message.

> To: (I just put everybody I could see in the server.)  
>  From: Goldring  
>  CC: (Once again, I put everybody I could see in the server.)  
>  Subject: Internal Affairs  
>  Text: I don’t know what I did to deserve referral to internal affairs. I would never turn against ISHTAR; I gave up my name for this, and this job means everything to me.  I’ll do whatever it takes to sort this out. Please help.
> 
> Very Respectfully,  
>  Agent Goldring

Then I sit back and wait. It doesn’t take long.

I get emails. I get a lot of emails. Emails from agents that weren’t even in East Point. Or the country. Or the continent. I got emails from their non-agents, people with numbers instead of snake names. Most of the emails were a variant of ‘I received this email by mistake, please remove me from the distro’. But others were damned hilarious. Here are the highlights:

Agent Dugite: “Ha, ha, dude, you’re fucked.”

Agent Sunbeam: “Anybody want to tell me how the hell a sleeper got on this email distro?! DON’T EMAIL US FOR OUR SAFETY.”

Agent Boomslang: “When did Goldring get replaced? I thought he died recently. Anyway, mate, if you fucked up that badly that quickly, you’re probably proper fucked.”

Agent Black Mamba: “I suggest you either suck start a .45 or go into hiding and pray they never find you.”

Agent Green Mamba: “I hear Bumfuck, Nebrahoma is nice this time of year. ;) Good luck, m8.”

Sawscale reads over my shoulder, laughing loudly, “Those motherfuckers done fucked up!”

Agent Fer-de-Lance: “Don’t email us your personal problems, you schmuck, and definitely don’t put it out in a mass email.  The quality of agents we’ve been getting has taken a serious downturn since the Diamondback episode.”

Liaison Death Adder: “There’s no Agent Goldring, yet. What the hell?”

Liaison Diamondback: “Everyone needs to stop replying to these emails at once. We are clogging the servers.”

7839: “I thought we couldn’t get emails from normal agents, just liaisons. Is this a mistake or a new policy?”

Every time one of them replied to the original email, they also sent a copy to everyone on the CC list and everyone on the distro. My email inbox was expanding exponentially. It didn’t take long before everyone started telling everyone else to stop replying.

Agent Bolo: “Okay, everyone needs to stop replying right now, my email is starting to crash.”

Agent Greennight:  “My inbox is filling up with this and drowning out all the legit email traffic everyone please stop.”

Liaison Diamondback: “Everyone replying to everyone’s emails is overtaxing the server. Everyone needs to stop sending emails right now. Sidewinder’s staff is working the issue.”

And the jewel in the crown:

Liaison Sidewinder: “THIS WAS A HOAX EMAIL AND EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU PLAYED RIGHT INTO IT. I HAVE NEVER SEEN A SELF-SUSTAINED DDOS ATTACK FUELED FROM WITHIN, BUT YOU ALL HAVE ILLUMINATED ME TO NEVER BEFORE SEEN DEPTHS OF STUPIDITY. YOU HAVE ALL FAILED MISERABLY. RIGHT NOW THERE IS NO AGENT GOLDRING IT WAS AN INTRUDER. THE STAFF HAS BETTER THINGS TO DO THAN MAINTENANCE BUT YOU IDIOTS HAVE CRASHED OUR MAIL SERVERS. EMAIL WILL BE SUSPENDED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. TO WHOEVER IS PRETENDING TO BE GOLDRING, I AM GOING TO FIND YOU, CUT OFF YOUR FUCKING HEAD, AND KICK IT DOWN THE STREET FOR THIS.”

I try to send an email, but can’t, both because the server is down and because I’m laughing too hard. I wipe away tears.

Sawscale hugs me tightly and laughs so hard they’re crying. Pretty soon they’re actually crying, sobbing into my shirt.

This alarms me and I say their name softly, grabbing their shoulders. They giggle a bit and sniff, “Let’s figure out how we’re going to get the rest of our team back.”

Someone knocks on the door.


	19. Close Ties

Sawscale answers the door, surprising me.  Small miracles, I suppose. They look like they’ve been crying.

“Saw, what’s wrong?” I hold their face and wipe away their tears.

“Boom!” They drag me into the room, putting their good hand on my neck.

“Rickie! Get some bandages, he’s hurt!”

Conway gets up and does as he’s told.

“Who did this to you, baby?” They gently peel away my bloodied scarf.

“Di.”

“Di? This looks like Addie’s work….”

“It was Di.” I insist, “Not sure if he did it to keep Adder from doing something worse or he really is as bad as the rest of them.”

Conway wipes away caked blood with a washcloth and bandages my neck, “If he was as bad as the rest of them he’d have let me bleed to death to finish you off when you shot me.”

“That was then, Mr. Conway.” I remind him, “Before Death Adder came back.”

He sounds like he wants to protest, but can’t think of anything. Sawscale gets my shirt off and presses those hemostat bandages into my shoulder.

“What brings you here, Boom?” Conway asks.

“I was told to get Copper back.”

Sawscale says, “Well, that’s odd.”

“They want to minimize their exposure to you. They know you’re looking for recruits.”

Sawscale chuckles, “The hell I am. I’m trying to keep those two from becoming like them. Got to leave the organization better than I found it.”

“Who’s ‘them’?” I asked.

“Unlike the other agents, we actually care for each other and work together because we want to, not because we’re trying to outperform the other one. If those two want to stay in ISHTAR, and I can’t blame them if they do, I want to establish something that will last. Maybe change it for the better.”

Conway and I glance at each other. I’m not sure if he’s grown on me or if we work together because we have a common goal. I think he’s thinking the same thing.

He says, “You’re a little late, Boom, Sawscale let Copper go.”

“What did you do to him?” I raise an eyebrow.

Sawscale laughs, “I know what you’re thinking and you’re way off; I didn’t hurt him any, didn’t humiliate him, we just had a little talk, is all.”

“Conway?”

“That’s all that happened.” He raises his hands.

“Why are we sticking around?” I ask.

“What do you mean?” Saw asks.

“Why don’t we just….” I shrug, “leave?”

“They’ll chase us down for inconveniencing them.” Conway replies.

“For a time.” I say, “Until they’re sick of losing agents. Now that you’re here, we can make life extremely difficult. We’ve proven as much.”

I spread my hands, “The gang’s all here.”

“No, it’s not.” Conway growls, “We’re still missing one.”

“No, we’re _not._ ” I point to them both, “Get it out of your heads that he’s one of us. He’s not. He never was. He turned on us like that!” I snapped my fingers, “Didn’t even hesitate, did he?”

“Says the guy that negotiated for his head.” Conway shoots back.

“You don’t mean that, Boom.” Sawscale murmurs.

“No, I do. You should see him around her, Saw. It’s disgusting.  How the fuck he could put up with that shit is beyond me. She makes him miserable and insane and yet he’s too weak to even tell her memory to get fucked.”

 _“He’s not fucking weak!”_ Conway screams at me and Sawscale and I both jump. His eyes are so bright they’re unreal.

“Have you ever been in an abusive relationship?” His voice is barely above a whisper.

“No. I wouldn’t tolerate that.”

He actually knife-hands me, “Then you don’t know what the fuck you’d tolerate in that situation. He’s not weak; you don’t know what the _fuck_ you’re talking about. You don’t know shit about abusive relationships.”

For a second, I think he’s about to backhand me.  Sawscale is staring at us, stunned. His eyes are burning right into mine, unblinking while his jaw shakes.

I look away and speak softly, “You’re right. My apologizes.”

He lowers his hand and sits at his desk, breathing hard to cool off.

Sawscale steps in to deescalate the situation, “Nobody’s abandoning Di. That proposal’s been officially rejected. Not saying you’re wrong, Boom, but there is a way to turn the situation around. The sticking point is that Di has to leave willingly. So, we have to sell our product. Us.”

“We’ve been outmatching them lately.”

“That’s just keeping us alive, so far. Not actually getting to our goals. People follow leaders for themselves, not for the leader. They follow because they believe what the leader believes. That’s the basis for loyalty.”

I point out, “What Di believes right now is that he can’t live on the outside. Institutionalized. Death Adder is the best he’s going to get because he’d be a burden on anybody else.”

Conway speaks, turning to us, “What, we make him believe in himself?”

“No, not that.” They reply, “Her hooks are in too deep for that, yet. That’s after. Damage control.”

“Then what?”

“Dr. King didn’t give the ‘I Have a Plan’ speech, did he? You can’t reach him with logic. You can’t reach anybody with logic. Reasoning and conscious thought are controlled through the neocortex. We have to go through the limbic system: long-term memory, emotion, behavior, motivation. What you call your gut instinct? That’s the limbic system.”

“But…you _do_ have a plan, right?” I ask.

“Look at Copperhead, what was the main takeaway, Rickie?”

“He told you to stop messing with Cascavel.”

“What did he offer in return?”

“Anything you wanted.”

“ _Anything I wanted._ Sacrifice so that _Cas_ may gain, not himself. If I told him to shoot himself in the head for the promise I’d leave them alone, he’d have done it.”

I sit up, “Copperhead said that?”

“He said, ‘I’ll do anything you want if you leave Cascavel alone.’”

I’m impressed.

“Di doesn’t have that right now. He ain’t got a Copperhead, at least he doesn’t think so. That’s what we’re selling. That’s why we don’t turn tail and run. The longer we stick around, chipping away at them, the more it sinks in.”

I say, “Assuming he knows you two aren’t just doing this because you’re on Rooke’s side. Or you just hate Death Adder, or any number of things. Or shit, that he needs to return the favor by pushing the lot of us away. He thinks he’s the problem.”

“We are doing it for those things.” Conway says, “We’re also doing it for him. And he’s _not_ pushing _me_ away.”

“Me neither.” Sawscale says, “I could’ve just killed Copper if that’s just what I was after. When Copper returns just fine, people start to wonder.”

“Wonder if he’s turned.” I raise my hands, “I’m not disagreeing, Saw; just playing Devil’s Advocate.”

Conway speaks, “Let them check Copper for signs of betrayal. He has nothing to hide. Maybe he’ll start questioning things, but that’s it. Let them think Saw turned the both of them. What can they do about it? Kill them to set an example? That can backfire.”

I add, “Any hardened agent is going to start asking questions, maybe start getting a little ambitious, and they know it; they don’t want to admit that ISHTAR is struggling because Di cut too deep. Who do they have that’s ruthless enough to kill agents and still be loyal to the liaisons?”

Sawscale shrugs, “Nobody, really. Diamondback? Shit, when I thought some of the liaisons were getting soft, I got a little ambitious myself.”

Their smile is pained. Bad memories, “They broke a rule sending you after Copperhead. They know they on the ropes. And they know they can’t really trust Di that much. They got to keep him away from the action. That’s why Addie keeps him close.”

“Where are you getting this confidence?”

“Analysis is data plus logic.” Sawscale casts Conway a meaningful look, “He’s reached out for help before. Let’s see if we can get him to do it again.”

 

* * *

 

I find Copperhead going the wrong direction if he was heading for the racetrack. He looks like he wants to hug me. I would let him, but he stops himself. I text Diamondback.

“Found Copper. Alive. Still in full kit.”

“No makeup? No wig?” Jokes? I guess he’s in a better mood. Disgusting.

“Not even nail varnish.”  Good moods are so rare for him I try to keep the moment going.

“Pretty strange for Saw. I guess Sawscale threw him out of the car when they got far enough away.” Is he telegraphing?

“Possible. Found him wandering around East Point.” I hate lying. Lies of omission are still sort of lies.

“You two come by Intex. Cascavel and I are conducting some training.”

He continues, “It’s fun.”

He clarifies, “For me.”

I tell Copperhead, “Diamondback wants us back at Intex for some training.”

“Yes, sir.” He wilts under my authority, not that I have much more than him. I want to tell him I’m proud of him for standing up to Sawscale and protecting Cascavel the only way he can. I want to tell him no matter what the rules are, having close ties with other agents is worth it. I want to tell him that if Sidewinder could answer honestly, he would say he doesn’t regret getting so attached to the last Copperhead.

Because even if your time together is short, the only point of being in this organization is the people you’re with. Legal names be damned.

There’s a lot I want to tell him. Instead, I just ask, “What did you and Sawscale talk about?”

He gets this look like he has a huge secret he wants to tell me. Instead, he says, “Nothing, they threw me out of the car. I’ve been wandering around this damned city ever since.”

So he was telegraphing. The lies match.

We take the train to Intex to find the car park close to the building absolutely covered in smashed melons. Honeydew, watermelon, cantaloupe. It’s a violent fruit salad rotting on the asphalt. There’s plenty of intact melons sitting in the grass.

Standing in the middle of this is Cascavel, covered in bits of melon and juice. She’s panting with exertion. A whistle blows from above us, and Cascavel jumps toward the building, catches something, and then sticks to the wall.

She slides off the building and sets the watermelon down with the rest of the melons. She notices us, rather, she notices Copperhead, and jumps at him. Her nose is bloodied.

“Copper!”

“Cas!”

He catches her in his arms and spins her around, laughing. He sets her down and she pats him all over, “I was worried!”

“I’m fine, I’m fine….” He glances at me, “Sawscale just threw me out of the car.”

She says something in Albanian and he responds in kind, stuttering over an unfamiliar language. Code-switching. I can’t say I wasn’t hurt when Diamondback and Sawscale did it to me.

He says something and Cas looks confused, like he seriously messed something up.

“ _Ata thanë… Ata më thanë…_.” He struggles to find the right words.

She raises a hand to him, speaking slowly and clearly, _“Më vonë….”_

She sends a text message and gets an answer back almost immediately.

“Diamondback told me to tell you two to meet him on the roof. And I get to take a break.”

She sits down with the melons under the tree while Copperhead and I head inside.

On the roof I hear an absolutely spooky sound. It’s Diamondback giggling to himself. He’s standing on the edge of the roof in full kit. Beside him are a great deal of various melons.

“Diamondback. Here’s Copper.”

“You got off easy this time, Copper.” He says, not looking at us, “Sawscale was in a particularly good mood.”

“I realize that, sir.”

“What’s with the melons?” I ask.

“Training. Cascavel has to catch the melons and stick the landing.”

“It’s a mess down there.”

“She catches on pretty quickly; only a few smashed melons. She caught the first one with her face, but she’s catching them about ninety percent of the time now. Come here, Copper.” He motions him over.

Copperhead walks over, nervous. He stands on the edge with Diamondback, nervous. Hypertrousers aside, it’s not easy to get over a natural fear of heights. Diamondback blows a whistle, waits a second, then pushes Copperhead off the roof.

Copperhead screams as Diamondback laughs nastily. I chuckle to myself, standing over the edge. Cascavel pins Copperhead to the wall and gently slides down.

“Good thing Cas caught him. His hypertrousers were off, mate.” I remark.

Diamondback’s eyes go wide and he looks at me, frightened, “Oh, shit, really?”

“No.” I pat his back.

He flinches and winces, “Just got those touched up!”

I keep forgetting.

“Sorry.”

“Death Adder wants to rescue Cottonmouth. So, sorry, you don’t get promoted.”

“I wasn’t aware I was under consideration. I guess we’re suspending our rules.”

“For now. At least until we stop being seriously undermanned. And if I become the training liaison, I suppose that leaves one of the operations spots to you. There’s still an open liaison spot. There’s only a few agents with seniority on you, now. And frankly, those agents suck.”

“It’s not exactly easy to find recruits, mate. We’re going to be undermanned for a long time.”

“No kidding.”

“I think that needs to be our focus. We need to focus internally, not externally.”

“I agree.”

“What’s the plan?”

“Cottonmouth’s likely under armed guard 24/7, probably in belly chains if the police follow Sawscale’s advice, which they probably are. The cops have toughened up recently.”

“I suppose it is natural for them to go back to what they know.”

“A former corrupt cop going to reform a bunch of corrupt cops. Yeah.”

“There’s different kinds of corruption, mate.”

“A frontal attack isn’t going to work, so I want to sneak him out, or sneak something in so he can escape on his own.”

“How?”

“We sneak in, pretending to be officers. Copperhead and I will do it. You and Cas stand out too much.”

“Agreed.”

“…I need you to get rid of Sawscale.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“If you can’t kill them, I understand, but get them out of the police station and away from us. I really don’t care how you do it. They’ll clock us instantly and we’ll all be in jail.”

Internally, I am screaming.

“Kill Sawscale? I can do that.” I lie.

Diamondback fixes me with this heartstruck look so intense it shocks me. He whispers, as if anybody could hear us from up here, “Don’t kill Sawscale; they deserve better.”

I whisper too, “I think you’d make a better distraction.”

“Pr-Probably. But…you do it. I’ll sneak in with Copperhead. You take Cascavel. Sawscale has a vested interest in Cascavel.”

“And you.”

“It’s…really not a good idea.” He says my actual name and folds his arms.

“You got it, mate. I’ll take care of Sawscale, non-lethally. You take care of Cotton.”

“Thanks. I’m sorry I stabbed you.”

“No worries. One hell of a way to stop an interrogation and distract Death Adder.”

If I could, if I thought it would help, I’d embrace him. Instead, I leave him up there while I tell the others the news and work out a plan.


	20. Running Deep

Boomslang came back that evening, surprising the hell out of the both of us. He makes tea with an ancient teapot and teabags I didn’t even know I had while he explained the situation.

Sawscale was still with us. They sit at the counter, making chili mac at what passes for a kitchen in my apartment, “We let it happen.”

“Excuse me?” Boomslang asks.

“Are you serious?” I say.

“If we stop them, you’re going to get burned, Boom. Everyone will know it’s you.

“If we don’t, a lot of cops are going to get hurt.” I remind them.

“If we do stop them, agents are going to get hurt. And not the ones we want.”

“And if you don’t show up at all, then they’ll know I warned you two away.”

“Damn.” Sawscale says.

“I got it.” I say, “Saw, you sit this one out. Boom, you and Cas stage another riot. That’ll divert enough of the police away that Copperhead and Hightower can get the mission done with minimal casualties. I’m going to try to stop them.”

“Why?” Boom asks.

“Cottonmouth needs to stay in jail. If things are too easy, they’ll be suspicious. Also, it’s a rare opportunity to see Hightower again with minimal interference.”

“For what?”

“He keeps warning me away, telling me he can’t help me forever-“”-How the hell has he been helpful?!-“But you know what he hasn’t told me?”

“What?” Sawscale asks.

“That he loves her. Not once.”

“If he fails the mission, there’ll be hell to pay.” Boomslang tells me, “She’s not exactly a paragon of mercy.”

“Fine,” I say, “I’ll play to lose. Cottonmouth gets out. Being a mad bomber and all might actually help our cause. People are going to lose their collective shit when word gets out.”

“Right then.” Boomslang stands up, “I’m going to commit petty acts of vandalism with Cas. You two work out custody for Di. Cheers.”

Sawscale smiles, “You only work out custody if you separated!”

“What are you two talking about?”

He leaves.

“What are you two talking about?”

 

* * *

 

Sawscale left for wherever they lived, leaving me uneasy. They looked like they were about to ask me something, but didn’t. I wonder if they wanted to stay the night, but were too nervous to ask.

I was getting the idea that relationships move a lot faster for them than they did for most of the population. 

Sure, we both want Hightower away from that monster, but we also want him for ourselves. I mean, ultimately, it’s his decision, but that still leaves someone with a broken heart. Sawscale and Hightower had history together, a torrid one from what I could gather; it’d be foolish to think that after everything they’d been through together, feelings weren’t still running deep.

But he reached out to _me._ He was willing to die for _me._

Fuck, I do not want to ruin my friendship with Sawscale.

I don’t want to give up Hightower, either.

I’ll respect any decision he makes. If he’s happy, I’ll be happy.

Yeah, right.

I walk into my bedroom to find a surprise.

“Get lost.” I tell her. I light up a cigarette and I almost ask how she got in here, but then I see the huge gaping hole in the wall where my window used to be. Her dropshot is resting across my bed.

“No.” She isn’t wearing anything but her hypertrousers and her back is to me. Even in the low light, I can see the marks of a very hard life. Nasty scars all over. Skin grafts made a patchwork of her back. Exit wounds were always larger then entry wounds. If she ever had tattoos on her torso, surgery had removed them, but she had half-sleeve tattoos that were similar, but not the same, as Hightower’s.

As I stared at her back, I couldn’t help but notice that .357 magnum rounds made pretty big exit wounds. How do you survive something like that?

“If you think you can seduce me, I have some bad news. Also, you’d better have some scratch to replace my window. Both windows.”

“It’s not that.” She replied, leaning back. She reaches slowly into her coat pocket and pulls out her wallet, “I know you wouldn’t talk to me if you thought I was armed.”

“You still have your trousers to hide weapons.” I raised my hand, “Please, keep them on.”

She smiled, “You’re doing very well against us, Mr. Conway. Will ten thousand cover the windows?”

She nonchalantly starts counting out hundred-dollar bills. To have that much cash to just throw around boggles my mind.

“Yeah, just about…I keep telling you and your people to stop judging me by my angelic looks.”

“So, I want to make a deal.”

“I’m listening.” I really don’t care what kind of deal she wants to make.

“I’m willing to trade an agent for this, so you know it’s good.”

“Trade an agent? Okay, I’ll take Cottonmouth for half a bag of Sprees and a case of O’Doul’s. He’s a liaison, so I’ll make them the chewy kind.”

“No jokes. I’ll give you Sawscale back. No tricks. You can keep them. They’ve always been a problem child, anyway.”

I don’t say anything.

“And you stay out of the Intex-Rooke affair. We’ll just agree to non-competition. I won’t have agents in East Point, just Intex and myself and Sidewinder and all the people that make ISHTAR work. No fieldwork.”

I don’t really know Death Adder that well, but I do know this is pretty damned generous for her. Call it a hunch.

I test the waters, “I want Diamondback, too.”

I can’t ask for Boomslang; she doesn’t know he’s a double agent. If I ask, I burn him.

Sorry, Boom. We’ll have to find another way out for you.

She finally turns her head to look at me, “You can’t handle Diamondback.”

“Handle? He’s not a horse, Adder. And you’ve been underestimating what I can and can’t handle.”

“He’s an experiment that ended unbelievably well.” She replies, “He was a blank slate. Never so much as fired a gun before I met him. I mean, sure, he caused some discipline problems, but with Sawscale gone, they’ve pretty much taken care of themselves.”

She’s proud of the damage she’s caused. My stomach turns, “He’s unstable. You know this. He’s your strongest agent, but he’s also the most fragile. You get nothing out of him you don’t get with Boomslang and Boomslang’s actually dependable. Let me take him off your hands.”

“Yeah, no.” She glares, “Sawscale could probably recover from this line of work. Not him. He’s institutionalized.”

I wonder if she really believes this, “Institutionalized? The hell does that even mean?”

“I made him; he’s mine. He can’t handle the outside world. What would he even do? Freelance hitman?”

“Whatever he wants.”

“He has done horrifying things with salad tongs. This really isn’t the kind of work you just walk away from, Mr. Conway. His entire identity is wrapped up in this; if he really wanted to leave, don’t you think he’d put up more of an effort to reach out to you?”

“Because reaching out to a non-agent at all isn’t a huge deal for him, right? You think this is just some schoolgirl crush or something, that I’m attracted to him, but I hardly know the guy. That’s not true. In a way, I think I know him better than you do.”

“Oh, that’s a bold statement.”

“If you thought your hold over him was so great, you wouldn’t be talking to me; you’d send him to kill me.”

Ha, got her. She narrows her eyes at me and hisses, “Do _not_ think I’m on the ropes just because I’m willing to negotiate with you. You’re good, you’re talented, and it’d be a shame to waste that kind of potential. But you’re no snake eater; you’re a freelance spy, not a hitman. Diamondback is a hitman. He would be best used in my organization and he’s happier here. You take Saw, I take Di, and we both pretend the other doesn’t exist, deal?”

“No deal. I’m not about to let you ruin Rooke and my city while you psychologically torture him.”

She gets up and approaches me, “Torture? What kind of bullshit is Sawscale telling you? That I’m abusive? I’ve never raised a hand to Di. But he’s raised a hand to me.”

 _Abu_ sers _don’t think they’re abusive, Richard,_ I remind myself.

“I’d normally feel sorry for someone in your situation, but in this case, I’d say you deserve it.”

She can kick my ass without breaking a sweat. I must be suicidal tonight. I should avert my eyes, considering she’s topless, but I focus on her face.

Her mouth pops open in shock; she’s not used to being blamed for being attacked. She’s used to people automatically assuming that the man is the abuser. She doesn’t fool me. Hightower’s obsession doesn’t stem from a healthy love. It stems from being an enabler with nobody left to enable, someone with nothing to lose and nothing to gain.

“You cold bastard!” Is that admiration in her voice?

“I have to thank you for helping me understand him better. Why he started following me around like a puppy but thinks of violence and missions as fun dates. Man, we are going to need to work on his stalker habits….”

“If you think you can steal him from me, you’re deluded.”

“Steal him? He came to me. When I refused to help him finish your fucking vendetta, he wanted me to kill him. He was willing to let me join Coachwhip with him as the initiation. I was actually Diamondback for a while. He ever tell you that?”

“No fucking way. He wouldn’t surrender to Coachwhip.”

I bare my teeth in a cruel smile, “He didn’t surrender to her; he surrendered to me.”

“No. No fucking way. If that were true, why did he return to me?”

“Because he fears you more than he likes you.”

She sucks her teeth and puts her coat back on, tying the belt, “Fine. Just know that if he does end up putting a knife in your chest, I gave you an out. Never say I didn’t give you ample opportunities for cooperation.”

She jumps out of my window.

“I don’t negotiate with terrorists.” I tell the empty room.

* * *

 

Boom doesn’t get the timing exactly right; I’m in the police station, looking around for those two and trying not to get arrested myself. I would’ve told Mayfield, but I don’t want Hightower getting arrested.

When I see him, I yank him into a closet with me. He turns to engage until he sees who it is. Surprise gives way to fear as he calls me by my last name and tries to run. He’s wearing a police uniform over his hypertrousers. I grab the sleeves of his uniform and hold him in place. I’m pinning him to the wall. Under normal circumstances, I shouldn’t be able to do this, but she’s sucked all the strength out of him. He doesn’t struggle anyway; he just goes limp and I have to prop him up. His shoulders sag and he tucks his chin as if I’m about to beat the life out of him. Maybe he thinks I will.

Even so, his eyes are as sharp as ever, cutting into me for daring to touch him, for not listening to his warnings. His fingernails dig into my elbows, not hard, but enough I can feel his nails through my coat.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” He snarls in a whisper.

“Stopping you.”

He makes a halfhearted attempt to escape, but I hold him still without really trying. He goes limp, exhaling loudly.

“If you don’t let me rescue Cottonmouth, there is no way in _hell_ I can keep her from putting a fucking hit out on you. Or Rooke. Or anybody. I’m the only thing that keeps her from just killing everything that inconveniences her. If we screw this, _I won’t be able to help you._ ”

“Is that why you’re doing this? To keep her pacified?”

He sighs again and suddenly won’t look me in the eye. When he’s sober, he can’t deal with his emotions. I’ve learned to expect this. He stares at the door and sighs, “I sort of took over Coachwhip’s spot; she used to be the trainer and was the brains. She ran the administrative, logistical side. Cottonmouth kept Addie sane, so to speak, with that hippie, feel-good shit. Then she got shot and now she’s back and….not as stable. I don’t know how long she was dead and what that does to your brain, but-””Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I struggle to stay quiet, “you’re saying she has honest-to-God _brain damage_ and all of you are still following her?!”

“She’s...Taking her spot didn’t work out so well for Coachwhip, did it?!”

“I killed Coachwhip.”

“I pushed you to do that. She’s back, a bunch of agents got killed-””-you did that-“”-and now if you don’t let me get this under control…!”

“She’ll what? You’re staying with her because you’re afraid.”

“Afraid? Of What?”

“Her. And me.” I smile while he snarls. “Let me help you.”

“Help me?! You can help me by letting me go.” He tries to jerk away again. I don’t let him. He adds, “Literally and figuratively.”

“You have a lot working against you, but you have a lot of help. She’s not as invincible as you think.” I notice that I’m standing on my toes, moving closer to him. He can probably feel my breath on his neck. I really need to get out of his personal space.

He lets out a single, nervous laugh, “Easy for you to say. What makes you think I want to leave?”

I sneer at him, “If you like being in ISHTAR and you love her just tell me. I’ll back off and talk Sawscale down.”

“You two really do make a cute couple.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I’ve been doing this too long to make a living doing anything else.” He’s shaking and won’t look at me. Rather, if he turned his head, we’d bump into each other. I back off a little, just a little, because it’s hard not to be close when we’re alone in the dark and he’s breathing on me.

“That’s not true and you know it. If you want to stay, just say so. I’m a grown man. I can handle rejection if you really love her. Just tell me.” I know I’m just jealous and I hate Death Adder. I hate the idea of her muscling in on my city and hurting the people I care about. I really hate it. I’ve never been a jealous man before, but here I am. I want to mark him out as mine and make it clear to her that she _can’t touch what’s mine._ Just knowing she’s in his head is making me crazy.

 _You are too close, Richard._ My rational brain tells me while I lean on him, _He’s in no position mentally to consent to what you have planned._

“I’m a terrible boyfriend. It won’t work out between us.”

“That’s fine, but stop changing the subject. If you don’t love her and you don’t love ISHTAR, then let’s get you out and push _them_ out. And it won’t be a problem. We can go on another date afterwards, if you’d like.”

_You’re going full creepy, stalker-psycho on him, Richard._

“You think it’s that easy?”

“You are not weak. You are not pathetic. You just aren’t thinking straight right now.”

_Neither are you._

“I-I…did…like being in ISHTAR….” He finally says.

I laugh breathily and enjoy this little power trip he’s got me on. It’s not every day I get to be the alpha in this relationship, “You can’t even lie about how you feel. You've been brainwashed, bullied, and beaten to such an extent in your mind, she’s invincible. But you can’t say you love her.”

I laugh again in his ear and a shudder starts at the base of his spine and shakes his shoulders. Somehow, I had gotten in his face, so close I have to tilt my head. His eyes go dark and glassy. I can feel his heart against my chest and under my fingers. I let go of one arm to caress his face, carefully. I don’t remember how I know to do this; it’s something my conscious brain forgot but somehow I remember. He inhales and it’s my breath he’s taking in.

“That’s what she makes you believe.” I put our foreheads together so all I can see is his burning eyes, “What she wants you to believe.”

His attack is so sudden, so violent, my head spins. He pushes me to the other wall so hard my head cracks against in in a shower of light. He’s pinning me and has a hand under my leg, pressing me to the wall. Our teeth clack and our lips smash together and I can taste blood. He forces his breath into my lungs. I have one arm behind his back and the other in his hair. Our tongues twist together and then he’s biting my lip.

I smile against his lips, “Kind of kinky to be doing this on mission with you dressed as a cop.”

An alarm goes off. He chuckles, “Copper….”

I hear a man scream and a lot of running.

Hightower sets me down, “Okay, Copper’s in troublegottogobye!”

He opens the door just as Copperhead dashes past. He’s followed by what I can only describe as a swarm of cops. They try to use their Tasers to subdue him, but his deathfluke keeps the pins from sticking.

Hightower gets behind them and starts taking them out, one at a time, with a stun gun.

Copperhead makes it to a window and hyperjumps through it. I can hear him swear as he falls. It sounds like he broke it with his head, not his forearms.

Like clockwork, they all run to the edge. I expect Hightower to just push them all over the edge, but he starts knocking the police out with his stun gun left and right; they’re no match for him.

“You all right, Copper?”

“Fine, sir.”

“I smell bacon, bro….” Cottonmouth is grinning as he walks past me, not appearing to notice. Cottonmouth is still wearing his orange jail scrubs, but he has his sunglasses and hat back. He also has his backpack.

The man has his priorities straight, I’ll give him that.

“Let’s chew the fat.” Cottonmouth says, “Give me the skinny on what’s been going on. Why attempt a rescue?”

“We’re undermanned as is. Also, I sort of owe you one myself.”

Cottonmouth grins and takes a drag from his electronic cigarette. I step out of the closet, “Freeze.”

“Conway….” Hightower glares at me, gripping a police-issued pistol. I have no idea if it actually works or if he’s bluffing.

Cottonmouth smiles even wider, “Bro…The Di-bro is a lot faster than you, with a lot more bullets.”

“Don’t make me do it, Conway. Let us have this one.” There’s a slight shake to his voice.

I suck my teeth and put my pistol away, “Get out of here before I change my mind.”

Cottonmouth takes a deep bow before putting his arm around Hightower. Hightower pulls Cotton into his hip and steps out of the window.


	21. A Thousand Splendid Suns

Death Adder is in a terrible mood when we get back. She’s unresponsive when I tell her about the demonstration that kicked off into a riot and kept going long after we left. She didn’t care that we had every gun-nut in the state protest in their own cities and it was looking good for overturning the weapons ban.

And with the mad-bomber that is Cottonmouth broken out of jail, things will only get worse for them.

Since we’re talking about Death Adder here, I send Cascavel away. I know Death Adder ruins people; it’s in her nature. Best to keep the other agents away from her. I enjoy a bit of an immunity, I’ve noticed. Maybe it’s something Coachwhip saw in me when we first met. Maybe it’s something I picked up from the others that felt her bite, like an inoculation. I don’t know.

She only asked me one question when I was done, “Where’s Di?”

“He and Copper went to break Cotton out of jail.”

“I need to talk to him. About Sawscale and Conway.”

“I’ll let him know, ma’am.”

“And don’t you go anywhere, either.”

My blood chills and a lump forms in my throat.

“What was his relationship with Conway?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What the hell was going on between those two before I returned?” She stands up to face me, getting in my face. Her hand is on the desk. She intimidates me, but I don’t show it. As long as I can see her hands, I’ll be fine. She can’t hurt me with her bare hands, not that much anyway.

“Hard to say, ma’am. They were partners for a while, I suppose.”

“What _kind_ of partners?”

“Diamondback enlisted Conway’s help to kill us. Coachwhip offered Conway Di’s spot if he’d flip on him. Conway swore to Coachwhip and myself up and down that it was one-sided. Di just wanted help taking us down, but Conway wanted nothing to do with it.” I leave out the part where I got shot. I'm sure she already knows.

She narrows her eyes at me; I do not want her thinking I’m lying to her.

She goes on like this, tearing my story apart as I tell it.  I’m used to it, so she can’t easily trip me up. She knows this. I can tell she wants to hurt me for not being able to catch me in a lie. I’m one of the few people she’d have a hard time hurting, though and she knows it. Sometimes, I wonder if I was recruited by Coachwhip solely to act as a counter to Death Adder.

I’m not a very good one, but at least I’m something. I have to leave this better than I found it, right?

Diamondback steps in quietly, removing his hat, “Cottonmouth’s back.”

Copperhead is behind him, trying to remain unseen.

Death Adder turns to him, smiling, “Where’d he go?”

“Making brownies in the kitchen office.”

“Oh, that should be fun. Go help him out, Copper. The grown-ups need to talk.”

Cottonmouth tips his police cap and doesn't _exactly_ run, but he doesn't walk either.

Diamondback sits down in Death Adder's chair to catch his breath and removes the uniform shirt. The badge hits the wood with a loud _clang_ and holds the shirt to the desk with its weight.

“Oh, Diamondback….”She gets behind him and runs her hands gently through his hair, “Let me take care of that awful man.”

“Which one? Conway?”

 _No,_ you _, you fucking spineless prick!_ I snap in my head.

She hugs him around the neck and lays her head on his, “He was useful against the insurrection in the ranks but now he’s filling my baby’s head with all this rotten stuff.”

He holds her wrists, staying quiet.

“You know I’d never let you go, right?”

“Yes?” He looks up at her with his eyes.

 _That’s why we’re still in this mess._ I think bitterly.

“You’re my heart and soul.” She takes his hand and kisses it, “I’d kill myself if you left. I wouldn’t want to live anymore.”

He kisses her hands, “I’m not going anywhere. What makes you think that?”

She kisses his forehead, “I love you.”

He opens his eyes, “I…love you, too. What’s going on?”

“I talked to Conway.”

 _When?!_ Christ, I think I’m going to vomit. I hope to Jesus, Buddha, Mohammad, and Amaterasu she’s lying.

I can see his blood go cold from here. He spins around in the chair and grabs her waist. She giggles as he pulls her into his lap, stroking her hair, “What did he say?”

She smiles, closing her eyes, “What do you think he said?”

“’Get out of my apartment’?” Oh, God, he’s shaking. He’s going to flake on us. If I can see it, she can definitely feel it.

She looks up at him, “He said he knew you better than I did.”

“That’s a bold statement, considering he doesn’t know my name.”

“You did work with him, though, right?”

“For all of one mission. Then he said I was dangerous.”

“Boom?”

I put my hands in my pockets, “As far as I know, it was one mission. Then he shot me, so I don’t have first-hand knowledge after that.”

She caresses his face, “Okay, so it checks out. Just one mission? And he doesn’t know your name?”

“If he does, he didn’t find out from me.”

“When did he start working for Coachwhip?”

“When I killed Gessler.”

“You _did_ kind of overreact on that one.”

Diamondback gives a disgusted sigh and rolls his eyes, “I’ve killed way less deserving people than that shithead and yet everyone acts like I murdered the pope.”

“Look at his replacement. Gessler would be much better in his shoes.”

She continues, "But he picks Coachwhip over you…and gets paired with Sawscale….”

“Sawscale recruited him after he shot Boom. You know how crazy Sawscale is.”

“And ends up screwing Coachwhip and tossing her off a building. Am I right so far?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Why turn on Coachwhip?”

“He found out killing me wasn’t worth tossing his hat in with the white worm.”

I’m offended for her, but I have more pressing matters than Coachwhip’s good name

“Okay….So, he wanted you dead. What changed?”

“I think Sawscale told too many truths about this place, so Conway decides to back out.”

“And what? Not kill you after all?”

“Or kill me on his own, after getting rid of Coachwhip. He shrugged. Maybe Sawscale talked him out of it or made a deal to leave East Point. Conway’s smart as hell, but not that ambitious. Us just leaving would’ve suited him fine.”

“So, he takes out Coachwhip. Going off seniority, Cottonmouth defaults to leader....”

“And I was done with the killing. Those years were…miserable.”

“What made you think you could ever leave?” She smiles and giggles, “So, did you reconcile with Sawscale?”

“…I did.” Shit, Diamondback, she’s got you.

“You were that lonely?” She laughs; he bristles. She kisses his chin and he relaxes, “Lonely enough to reconcile with someone that thought nothing of seducing you to get to me?”

 _They_ certainly didn't think of it that way; I'd know. I was their parent, therapist, and even rebound for a while. Did Diamondback know about that? Doubtful, Sawscale was too proud to seen as weak or hurting.

He blushes, “We hadn’t gotten back to that point; it was an…understanding. Anyway, they wanted you dead to get to me.”

“Chicken and egg, really. They never got over me.”

“As for the purge, well, we were just on opposite sides of a war.” He looks over at me, “Nothing personal.”

Sure, Di, nothing personal. Just business. And if you don’t shake that fucking weakness off, what I’ll do to you to save Sawscale will also be ‘just business’. I’ll mourn you like a brother afterward, promise.

“You’re _still_ on opposite sides of a war. You two just had a temporary ceasefire, that’s all. You know Conway said you surrendered and let him have your name?”

I expect him to laugh it off, since it couldn't be true. He doesn't.

“That is not true.” His eyes went wide, “I was trying to get a clear shot of Coachwhip, but she kept getting Conway between us.”

“Why not just shoot Conway?”

He sounds rehearsed, “Sawscale was going to shoot me the second I fired. I had to make it count.”

Nice save, Di. I wonder how close to the truth it is.

“Didn’t Conway have a pistol, too?”

“No,” he replied, “wait, yes, he did. I was going to get shot, either by Sawscale or Conway. I only had one chance to get Coachwhip. If I couldn’t kill them all…I had to at least get that one.”

“Of course. So, you knew you could only get one of them, so you picked Coachwhip, knowing Sawscale or Conway would kill you immediately afterward?”

“Saw probably would have gone for a disabling shot, then have Conway finish me off.”

“How did they end up losing an eye?”

“I grabbed their knife and twisted around to get them after Coachwhip ordered them to kill us both.”

“You and Conway.”

“…Yes. I stabbed Sawscale with their knife. Coachwhip stabbed me through the hand with her cigarette holder.” He shows her his left hand for proof, “She was going to make him kill me...he got cold feet.” 

“Why would he suggest you’d just give up?”

“He’s trying to play into our natural treachery. If we can’t trust one another, we’ll tear ourselves apart from within. It’s happened before.”

“It’s happening now." She sits up, straddling his hips. She grabs his shoulders and bends over backwards to face me, upside down, "I know you’re the rat, Boom.”

She gives me this horrible smile that chills my blood. I start backing away towards the window.

"Death Adder....”

"Oh, don’t ‘Death Adder’ me, you son of a bitch. You're the only one I know that speaks in that fake Manchester accent. I heard you talking in Conway's apartment with Sawscale." She draws Sawscale's pistol and aims, still bent over. Diamondback holds her hips so she doesn't fall. It is such a beautiful weapon; it belongs in a museum, not in her hands.

"Drop her!" I yell at Di. It would give me time to get away.

He shakes his head and shrugs hopelessly, unable to look at me, "I admire your loyalty, Boom, but loyalty has consequences."

"That's _twice_ you picked wrong, Boom." She giggles.

"I can tear them apart." I am a terrible liar.

"You won't."

"I wasn't the first to betray you and I won't be the last." I spit. Might as well go out quipping, “And I’d do it again, too!”

Something inside me breaks, being just moments from death. She just lets me go on this tangent, “We were better off with Coachwhip! ISHTAR is nothing but a collection of freaks who will tear themselves apart even without outside help! And we _have_ help this time!”

Adder winks at me, "If Saw and Conway are still _stupid_ enough to be on this _planet,_ I'll send you them both as a consolation prize, don't worry."

“This changes _nothing_! We’ll _all_ be avenged!”

I do a reverse hyperjump, kicking a foot forward to jump back into the window behind me. The glass shatters and the pistol barks at the exact same time.  I feel two rounds zip past me, redirected.

I don't hear a third.

I fly out the window, seven stories down. As I fall, an intense fire blooms inside me, somewhere, hotter than the sun. A ribbon of blood rips from my torso and paints the glass and air, taking all my warmth with it. I've never seen so much blood flow out of me at once before.

Even so, training takes over, and I orient myself so I land feet first. It shouldn’t be a fall that kills me. There was too much symbolism in that.

I think of everything that lead up to this point. I think of arrogance hiding dangerously low self-esteem and betrayal as a survival mechanism. I think of people I thought were my friends and people I thought were my enemies. I must have been a really terrible judge of character.

As the world sucks away from me, I think of all the agents. About my predecessor, about whom I know nothing, about all the agents that died and were reborn as someone else with a new personality and a new face. Boomslang would also be reborn.

There were so many stories in our names. One might be foolish enough to think they all ended badly, but not mine, I don’t think. The others probably don’t think so, either, wherever they are.

I don’t regret any of it. Instead, I smile.

~

I make it back to my apartment, feeling like a marked man.

I get a call from Boomslang and I answer immediately. It’s Hightower. I say his name in surprise.

He cuts me off, “If you’re in your apartment, get the fuck out now! You’re about to be attacked!”

“How do you-?!” ”GO!”

I pull the fire alarm in the hallway and jump out of my window.

Hightower is screaming at me, “It’s open fucking season you fucking idiot! I _told you_ to leave us alone and-“ He chokes and I hear him punch a wall, “Now she has a fucking hit out on you!”

“Wait, why do you have Boom’s phone?!”

“NO!” He screams, “I need you thinking clearly! Get with Sawscale! You have a better chance with them! This is _it_ , Richard! I can’t help you anymore! You’re on your fucking own!”

He chokes and whimpers, “Just go. It’s not worth it.”

“Hey…” I try to talk, but he cuts me off.

“I really hate what she does to you.”

“Ditto.” I reply.

“She’s making you someone else.” He sniffs.

“She made you ‘Diamondback’, then she made you ‘Hightower’. You’re neither one. Your name is-,” He hangs up before I can say it.

My confused neighbors start to join me. They start asking each other questions, like where the fire was.

Right on cue, the fire shows up.

In Hightower’s apartment, to be exact. I’m thrown to the ground with everyone else. My teeth rattle. The sky rains bricks and glass and metal. Everyone screams. My apartment vanishes with Hightower’s, an entire corner of the building evaporates into a sun. The Rooke Building takes a lot of the hit. Delgato’s office ceases to exist, too.

I understand, now.

Boomslang got burned.

I was wondering why Cottonmouth sent me on that hunt.

I sit up, cold. I remove my hat and hold it to my chest for a moment.

I text Hightower, “Is he alive?”

He responds, “Get to Sawscale.”

He blocks my number.

I stand up, dusting myself off. I put my hat back on.

And I do as he says.

I understand a lot now, actually. When Coachwhip recruited me, it drove him as insane as Death Adder is driving me. He could have written me off, killed me with the rest of the agents. I could write him off, too, right now, if I wanted.

Those are lies. He couldn’t write me off any more than I can him. You know how possessive we can be.

Sawscale messages me with an address, nothing more.

They had bought a house in one of the poorer suburbs of East Point, not far from my apartment. I let myself in.

They don’t hug me. They don’t smile. They’re in full kit, holding their hat to their chest.

I have only one question, “Intex or race track?”


	22. Coachwhip's Revenge

I kick down the door to the Intex building. Cottonmouth is sitting in the lobby, sipping a white Russian.

“Guess you’re not getting the deposit back on your apartment, brother.” He’s not looking at me; he’s looking at his drink. He smiles.

“Real funny, asshole.” I draw my pistol.

“Let’s get a few things clear, brother.” Cottonmouth’s tone is dark as he stands up to face me, “I don’t like your jerkoff attitude. I don’t like your jerkoff face. I don’t like your jerkoff hat. And I don’t like you. Jerkoff.”

Sawscale had brought a bullwhip with them; it was ordinary brown leather, stained black at the handle and the end. They reach into their coat and lets it unravel from their hand. They twist their wrist to make a loop at the base. Cottonmouth blanches; Sawscale shows their teeth.

I’d never seen them use a whip before.

“For your own safety, do not insult the hat.” I warn.

Cottonmouth throws his drink at me with surprising force. I’m doused in milk, coffee liquor, vodka, ice, and an old fashioned glass. It’s the glass that hurts the most; it busts my nose and I clutch my face.

“Ow! Asshole!”

My ears ring from the sound of a whip crack and Cottonmouth screams, “Ow! Fascist!”

I open my eyes to see him clutching his wrist. He’s bleeding badly.

“ISHTAR stands to bring this place out of the ruins. And you want to fuck that up. For what?!”

“All you’re doing is making things worse! And you assholes attacked me first.” I say.

“And you, Sawcuz! You’re one of us! What the actual fuck?”

“Not anymore. If you don’t understand, you never will.”

“Where’s Boomslang?” I ask.

“Room behind me.” He points, “If he lives, cool, if not….” He shrugs.

He tries to remain cool through what I can imagine is a painful cut on his wrist.

I hear Cascavel, “Stitches?! Can you stitch arteries?!”

“Of course!”

“No, I mean, can _you_ stitch arteries?!”

“About to find out, opossum!”

Cottonmouth shakes his head, “You two know you won’t survive killing me.”

Sawscale sneers, “Who said anything about killing you?”

Cascavel: “Have you ever done this before?!”

Copperhead: “Once. On a dummy. But, if it was alive, my instructor said it would have lived.”

“Great.”

I ask, “What are you doing here?”

“I was told to tell Addie if you two survived my little surprise.”

“And now?”

“Your ex-boyfriend’s at the racetrack. He’s not allowed out of Addie’s sight until you’re dead. He has emotional issues, man.”

The whip cracks and Cottonmouth’s free hand moves. He’s clutching about six feet of it, drawing back with all his strength. The whip wraps around his forearm. It takes all of Sawscale’s strength to hold on.

He shakes his head, smiling, “I like that you brought this out. Tells me a lot about you, right now. You should quit while you’re ahead. You still got a chance.”

Their voice is troublingly dark and deep, “Y’all blew your chances with me a long time ago.”

“Yeah, right. The Boom-brother’s immune to us; you’re not. Di-bro’s definitely not. Y’all are snakebit, no going back.” He shakes his head, “You’ll _never_ be one of them.”

Doubt crosses Sawscale’s face; they seem to believe what he says, if only a little. They don’t move. I can’t afford doubt right now, so I take my chance while he’s distracted.

You were probably expecting something more epic for a showdown with a liaison. Sorry.

I shoot him in the knee. He screams and drops. I shoot his other knee for good measure. The two agents go quiet. I hear someone cock a pistol.

Cottonmouth yells at me, “What the fuck?!”

I rip his backback away from him and dump its contents. There’s a brick of weed, his car keys, some cassette tapes, a lighter, and some rolling papers. That’s it.

Sawscale laughs with relief and their voice goes back to normal, “You bluffing motherfucker! I thought for _years…!”_

He laughs weakly. He’s going to be in a wheelchair for a while, if not forever. His knees are obliterated.He’s bleeding all over the carpet.

I hear Cascavel whisper to Copperhead.

Cottonmouth curls in on himself, trying to stop the bleeding, “ISHTAR’s unofficial motto, bro. Saw ever tell you what it is?”

“What?” I keep my pistol on him, wary.

Sawscale and Cottonmouth speak in unison, “We fuck up our agents; what do you think we’ll do to you?”

I hear Cascavel, “We need to get him to the hospital!”

Copperhead snaps, “He won’t make it to a hospital!”

She snaps back, “You’re not a doctor!”

“I’m the best he has right now!”

“Go take care of the Boom-brother; you’ve won this round.” He offers me his agent ID; he wrote his PIN on it. Like every other time I’ve faced him, it was a test.

Or maybe he’s such a stoner he can’t ever remember his PIN. I hope that’s the case.

I snatch it out of his hands, “I’ll let you live for this. Give me your mobile.”

“What a kind soul you are.” He hands that over, too.

I kick down the door. Boomslang is lying on a tarp on the floor. There’s blood everywhere. Cascavel sees me and takes no chances. She shoots at me with her free hand. I duck into the door. I’m not sure if I was quick enough to get out of the way or if the deathfluke protects me, but I don’t get hit.

“You!” She shrieks.

“Hands are up! Don’t shoot!” I show her my hands, keeping the rest of me inside the door.

“Harass someone else! We’re busy!”

“Just finished harassing Cottonmouth.” I remark.

“Fuck you!” She shoots at me again.

“Cut it out! My hands are up!”

I poke my head in the door.

She practically in tears, “We get it! You’re a badass! You don’t have to be such an asshole about it!”

“You guys picked a fight with me!”

Boomslang groans.

“I know, mate….”

“Oh, God, I am wrist deep in Boomslang….”

“No time for squimishness, opossum….”

“He can feel it through the drugs….” Cas remarks miserably.

Sawscale shoves me out of the way with their cast, “Boom!?”

Cas aims at Sawscale, squeaks, then drops the pistol, “Sawscale!”

Copperhead is more practical, “He’s hurt! He’s hurt bad! You brought a car?!”

“Bringing it around front, now!” Sawscale takes off. I step in carefully.

Cascavel hisses at me, “You’re the reason he got shot! He was the rat!”

“I know that. How’s he doing?” I try not to look guilty.

“He seems to be enjoying whatever he’s dreaming about.” Copperhead remarks.

Boomslang’s head is tilted to the side and his tongue is hanging out of his mouth. His startlingly gray eyes are rolled to the back of his head. He occasionally moans. The antiseptic smell of alcohol makes me think for a second he’s passed out drunk. Then the smell of blood and guts hits me and I feel like I’m going to be sick.

The look on Boomslang’s would be hilarious if it wasn’t for the fact I could clearly see his organs. Copperhead is stitching a rubbery artery back together. The cheap carpet is soaked black with rich, red blood.

I am so fucking sorry, Boom.

Cascavel is pinching an artery shut while Copperhead works. She hisses at me, “If he dies, his blood is on _your_ hands!”

“I know that!” I snap. I take off my coat, “Tell me what to do.”

“Put on gloves, mate.” Copper gestures to an aid bag I hadn’t even noticed.

I do as I’m told.

“Get the qwikclot, roll it into little tubes. You can do the packing.”

“How do I do that?”

He gives me this icy look, “roll it into little tubes, like dental cotton.”

The cotton is soft and powdery. I remark, “If Death Adder knows you’re doing this, you’re both dead.”

“We know.” They say in unison. Copperhead walks me through what to do while he wraps Boomslang in combat gauze and medical tape.

Sawscale busts in, “Is he stable?!”

“Closing him up now. Mr. Conway, just stuff the wound with as much of that stuff as you can. It’ll help keep him stable. We’re taking him to hospital.”

Cascavel speaks, “People are going to ask questions; we’re not here legally. Boomslang might get in serious trouble.”

Sawscale looks at the both of them, “Y’all are going to take Boom and Cotton to the hospital. I’m calling Mayfield. He’s tracking Boom as one of mine. Conway and I are going to the racetrack to take care of this once and for all.”

“You want us to talk to the police chief.” Cascavel asks.

“He’s tracking Boom as one of mine.” They repeat, “Hell, tell him it’s all weird spy shit. He’ll understand.”

“You want us to actually talk to the police chief. Of the actual police.”

“Trust me.”

Copperhead is about to speak when Boomslang interrupts him, “Are we snakes or not?”

He speaks with this accent that’s half American and half English, though he pronounces ‘snakes’ differently, more like ‘snehks’. I think this is his actual dialect.

Sawscale runs to him and cradles his face, “Don’t try to talk, baby, we’re getting you some help.”

“Use. Our. Backstop.” His breathing is labored, “If you can’t trust Sawscale, trust me.”

Cascavel says, “We’ll get Boomslang to the hospital, then we’re leaving. Whatever grudge you two have against ISHTAR is with you two. We’re just trying to help Boomslang. That’s it.”

Sawscale turns to the tough love; their tone is dark and authoritative, “Fair enough. We won’t crush ISHTAR, at least we won’t try to, but we want them to add up all the damage and make them think twice about messing with us. Get him to the hospital. Talk to Mayfield when you see him. Use the backstop. Y’all wanted to be in ISHTAR, well, this is what we do. Let’s load him up.”  

Cottonmouth screams from the other room, “Can I get a ride, too?”

* * *

 

The other two agents took Cottonmouth’s van. We take Copperhead’s car. Sawscale is quiet, focused on the road. The radio isn’t on. When we get to the racetrack, they put their mirrored aviators on.

It worried me. Death Adder had a way of bringing the absolute worst out of a person; she really could make you someone else.

I hadn’t been back here since my date with Sawscale, where I had seriously contemplated murdering Hightower. Death Adder’s insanity was contagious. I could only hope I had caught just enough of it from the agents she’d infected to be immune myself.

Yeah, right.

Drawn on the door was an ‘X’ in a figure-eight. I put Cottonmouth’s ID in the keyboard, which beeped and opened the door behind me.

I was immediately accosted by the sound of a busy office. I started to sweat nervously.

I hiss, “You didn’t tell me this place was going to be doing operations this late.”

“Twenty-four/seven, Rickie.” They say shortly.

I grab Sawscale’s shoulder, “You’re acting weird.”

They stop and stare at me coldly. It scares the shit out of me, but I hold my ground, “This is what Death Adder wants. She wants to goad us into a fight. She has the advantage there. Chill the fuck out.”

They take a deep breath and hold it.

“She thinks if she can get you back to your“-I struggle to find a word for it-“….snakey self, she can turn you back and get me, too. We have to be a united front.”

They exhale slowly, “You’re right.”

They look at their whip, “This isn’t me. Not anymore.”

“Hang back, I need to get to a computer. The worst I can do to them is break their equipment; it’s more effective than breaking bone.”

“I’ll guard the door. Let me know when you need me.”

The hallway is long and dark and ominous or maybe I only think it is.

I popped my head into an open doorway to see Sidewinder standing in front of the room with a laser pointer. There were probably a dozen computer stations set up on folding tables. Wires snaked all across the floors, the walls, and the ceiling. I slipped in and sat in the back.

“Attention in the TOC!” he yelled.

Everyone repeated him and went silent, paying attention. I sat down in the back at an empty station.

“We’ve just received word that Agents Cascavel and Copperhead was ambushed by Objective Mongoose. As of 2150, the whereabouts of Objective Mongoose is unknown. He was last seen headed northbound on Mason Street.”

Well, looks like Hightower was right; she really did put a hit on me.

He had to have been talking about me. They left out what I did to Cottonmouth. I could kiss those two.

I turned on the computer. On the lid, right above the screen, was a username and a password. I smiled. Convenience always seemed to trump security, not that I was complaining. I log in as Coachwhip.

Did you know that the edelweiss is an old Victorian symbol of devotion? They’re a hardy mountain wildflower native to the Swiss Alps. Picking a bouquet of edelweiss required climbing the Swiss Alps back then, so they were a lot of trouble.

I get to work and open the command console. This won’t take long at all; vulnerability testing is an old, worn, favored hat of mine. I can get to their servers, because who ever thought to secure something so basic on a secured network?

Which server do I kill first?

He continues, “Agent Copperhead was conscious, though stunned and disoriented. He gave the report.”

I smile to myself. I did this at my school’s computer lab when I was about eight or nine. I was in so much trouble.

I go through a list in my head, taking ownership of files.

_takeown /f C:\Windows\System32\en-US\ aadcloudap.dll…_

Someone asks, “Think he’s headed here?”

“Unlikely; he’d have to know where we were and have a means to badge in.”

“What I’m wondering is how he got the jump on two agents.”

“Agents Boomslang and Sawscale had tried this very tactic on an unauthorized mission. Objective Mongoose has likely updated his tactics in response.”

Sidewinder checks his mobile, raising an eyebrow.

I get a message on Cottonmouth’s mobile from Death Adder, “Cotton, where are you?”

I hesitate. Finally, I type, “In heaven, sis.”

“Who the fuck is this?”

“Agent Coachwhip.”

“Okay, you know what? Fine. I got Boom. You got Cotton. Blood for blood. I guess it’s my move?”

“Because we’re playing chess now?”

“This is way more fun than chess. Using Cottonmouth’s badge? Sidewinder is CC’d to these messages. Have fun! >;D”

Sidewinder steps outside, smiling wide, “Just one minute….”

He says to himself, “Sawscale, it would be an honor to do this for you…!”

There was no hint of sarcasm there. He was completely honest and enthusiastic and terrifying. Where did Death Adder _find_ these people?

I message Sawscale, “Sidewinder inbound!”

“Figures.”

I hear a whip crack. Everyone in the room goes quiet. I keep working. I have to trust Sawscale.

Death Adder steps inside and speaks clearly, “Everyone who is not Richard Conway, go home.”

They don’t hesitate for a second. They don’t even grab their things. They just go.

She turns to me, smiling wide, like she was winning a game only she was playing, “I want you to know, Mr. Conway, that if I ordered Diamondback to shoot himself in the head, he’d do it.”

I hear another whip crack and Death Adder shudders. It reminds me of that long, smooth scar across Hightower’s back, the one as long as my forearm. I think of Hightower siding with Death Adder over Sawscale, how they might have taken it. I understood why I never saw them use a whip before. Sawscale only brought that out for _special_ occasions.

“Your hold isn’t as great on him as you think.”

“Not right now.” She admits, “You do have a sort of demented charm, I can admit that. You qualify, you know. For all intents and purposes, you’re Coachwhip.”

Is she seriously giving me one last chance, or is she trying to get my guard down?

I have my code ready. This was one arena where she could never hope to beat me. It’s one line:

_cacls C:\Windows\System32\en-US\system32/G  COACHWHIP:F_

“Last chance, Death Adder. Leave me and mine alone.”

Her final question, “Or else what?”

My finger hovers above the ‘Enter’ key.

“I’m willing to give you and yours the benefit of the doubt, because without you, I never would have met those three. I’m grateful for that.”

I hear another whip crack and Sidewinder screams. He screams like a girl, now that I think about it. I hear Sawscale laugh nastily.

She sighs happily, “Their rehabilitation is coming along nicely. Maybe I’ll have Diamondback fuck them a few times, get it out of their system.”

I have to believe that she doesn’t know what she’s doing. I have to believe that an abuser can recover, that they can change. I can’t leave Hightower alone; if she could change, realize what she’s doing is wrong, than maybe Hightower and I could work _his_ tendencies together. He could change, too.

“You don’t seem to realize that what you’re doing is wrong. Otherwise, I’d just shoot you and be done with it. You’ve done a lot of good with these people, but you’re taking it too far and twisting it into something ugly. Let’s just stop this now. Do you realize what kind of anguish you’re putting him through?”

“Of course. I saved them for myself. I worked hard to save them. If they could handle themselves, I wouldn’t have to do it for them. That makes them mine. It’s kind of fun. You’re pretty fun, too. Maybe after some conditioning, you’ll learn not to fuck with snakes.”

My heart sinks to the cold, black pit that is my stomach, taking all my hopes with it. My voice is hard and cold, “Maybe then you’ll learn basic computer security.”

I hit ‘Enter’. The result is spectacular.

Every monitor turns the deep blue programmer’s nightmares were made of. I’m bathed in beautiful blue light. Death Adder looks around, confused.

“What the fuck did you just do?!”

“I deleted System32. Oldest trick in the book. There is no Coachwhip, Diamondback, Sawscale, or even Death Adder anymore. Those people don’t exist. _You_ don’t exist.”    

I hear Hightower scream, “What the fuck?!”

She chuckles lowly, turning her head. I wondered how she always remained so upbeat, no matter what.

“Then for tonight and tonight only, you can call me Connie.”

“Connie?”

“It’s short for Constantia. Constantia Hightower. No harm in letting you know now, since you’re dead.”

The thrashing she gives me is legendary.

 

 


	23. The Man in the Long Black Coat

I really should have prepared for this.

She jumps over the tables to kick me in the head. I go down. She lands on the desk behind me. I get back to my feet, bringing up my fists. She jumps away from me and I follow. We knock down computers. I catch her in the back, bringing her down. She hooks her feet around my neck and slams me on the floor.

We scramble to our feet.

She kicks me in the face, sending me stumbling into the wall. My fingers die. I go blind. Her next kick sends me into another wall in a flash of blue. I’m thrown into the light switch and the room is filled with deep blue light, like we’re underwater. She looks inhuman in this light.  

Her footsteps are nearly silent as I wipe blood from my eyes. She hits me in the face with a folding chair, taking me to the ground.

Does she ever slow? It’s like everything I do just gives her power. Every punch I land just eggs her on. 

For every punch I land on her, she gets three on me. She’s strong, all wiry muscle and grace. It’s a bit like fighting Hightower and I hold onto that thought, study it.

I have a flashback, to when Hightower and I had our knife fight. He was just sick to death of Death Adder and I fighting in his head, tearing him up, that he just wanted it to be over.

Now, Connie here and I were acting it out in the flesh.

I have no problems telling the world Connie’s real name. It’s the man I refer to as ‘Hightower’ I want to protect.

Fighting her was like fighting him, I realize, only on a smaller scale. To beat him, I had to get in close. I hook my ankles around her neck and bring her down with me, then I yank her in close.

I gave her a solid punch to the jaw as my eyes cleared. Her grin was absolutely unholy. She got a leg between us and sent me flying into a desk. She was on me in a flash of skylight. I punched her away and blocked her kick with a hushcracker. I caught her ankle and flipped her, but only got another kick to the head as a reward.

“Enough foreplay.” She says. She reaches into her coat and draws a knife. She tosses it to me and it skids on the floor. She draws another one from her sleeve. I pick it up carefully, getting a feel for it.

Déjà vu.

We started circling. She drew a dagger from inside her coat and tossed it to me, casually, not in an attempt to wound. It skidded across the floor and stopped at my shoe. She drew another one from her sleeve and brought it to her face, grinning.

I picked up the knife in one fluid motion, getting a feel for it. This was another one of her games. She was taking me seriously, of course, as much as she took anything seriously.

“Are you going to try and kill me?” I asked.

“Maybe. I guess. If I have to.” She was excited, lithe, and graceful. I could see her appeal. Her eyes were soft and her smile was horrifyingly honest, “I’m thinking I won’t have to.”

“What happened to recruiting me?”

I began to wonder how many people she turned into agents in just this way.

“Where are you getting this confidence that you can just turn me?”

I tried to get in close, but she always got out of the way with a warning slash from one of her daggers.

“You’re not like us, but you can be. You’ll like the esprit de corps, the adventure, the steady money, the respect.”

“The respect doesn’t matter if I can’t respect myself. I’ve seen your work. Not a fan.”

I barely hurl myself out of the way of a swipe that would have sliced me right open. She recovered, twirled the knife, and resumed circling. I was watching her chest to see where she’d be, but I was also watching her eyes. I could see how much knives excited her; we both knew the damage they could cause.

“Tell me something, Mr. Conway, how did you manage to turn Boomslang? It’s not like you have money to bribe him with.”

“He’s betrayed you before. What makes you think he wants to work for you just because you came back? He came to me.”

The second time she lunged at me I jumped and stuck to the ceiling.  She follows me, kicking off and catching me around the shoulders. We fall to the ground, busting our heads. She recovers before I do and yanks me back to my feet by my tie. She casually cuts a line across my face.

I stab her in the shoulder and she jumps away, gasping. She giggles.

“Why didn’t you tell Hightower you were alive?”

“He wouldn’t have carried out his purge so…efficiently if he knew. He’s so beautiful in mourning.”

“That is the sickest shit I have ever heard.”

“I also didn’t want him to finish too quickly.” She tries to stick her knife in my chest, but I twist out of the way, “One thing I could never get him to do was draw it out and enjoy it.”

“That’s because he’s not a sick fuck.” I snapped.

“Hey,” Adder pointed at me with the knife, “If this sick fuck had helped more than I did, Sawscale would be dead before they ever reached East Point and none of you would have met.”

“I doubt that and I’m not about to give you credit for serendipity.” Not anymore.

I notice I haven’t heard any fighting between Sidewinder and Sawscale.

“I’m not letting you take him away.” Her eyes are practically glowing in this light. She’s panting with emotion, “He’s mine. I made him. He’s mine. You don’t love him like I do.”

I doubt very seriously anybody loved another human being like Connie loved him. It makes everything so much worse. If the reverse had happened, if Diamondback had died and Connie lived, then it would have been the same thing.

“You don’t really love him.” I growl because I’ve clearly become suicidal, “You have this weird idea of what you think he is and you cut away all the parts that don’t fit.”

But, didn’t Hightower love this idea of Connie, too?

She punches the handle of her knife into my jaw and I’m reeling. I think she cracks a tooth. A second knife slashes across my ribs. That’s what I get for being distracted. I kick her in the gut, getting her away. I draw my pistol and fire blindly. She throws herself behind a desk in fear.

They were both co-dependents, feeding on each other in the world’s worst positive feedback loop, dragging people in and destroying them as fuel. Sawscale tried to break the cycle and look what it got them. What chance did I have?

The most important thing in the world to me was to make sure those two never interacted again. Hightower showed me there was still hope for him. I really wasn’t sure about her.

Is this what she did to all the agents? Was Boomslang immune because he never pretended to be what he wasn’t?

“You’re afraid of firearms!” I laugh, “Oh, Connie, that’s what you get for bringing knives to gunfights.”

My arrogance doesn’t last long. She kicks a table into me and I’m down. She’s kneeling on it, sticking her knife randomly under it, looking for me. I kick the table away and she jumps to her feet. I get to mine, throwing myself at her. She’s taller than me, but I have a lot of weight to throw around. I slam her into the projector screen and she knees me in the lowest of places. I double over and she shoves me away, cackling.

I puke all over the floor. She kicks me in the ribs and smashes my hand, pinning me. I roll to my back.

The lights come on.

She’s just about to punch that dagger into my chest when she’s thrown backward, off of me. A shadow looms over me. She lands on her feet.

“On your feet, Richard.” Hightower’s tone is flat. He’s not looking at me, he’s looking down the barrel of his broomhandle. I struggle and fall, dizzy and in pain. Even my hair hurts.

She rushes to him and he cocks his weapon, shaking his head.

Mark appears out of nowhere, grabs me around the bicep and pulls me to my feet. He gets his left hand around my waist in case I need it. In his right hand is a Mauser. He’s wearing a black dropshot. I’m the only one wearing camel.

“Di, what are you doing?” She keeps her distance, afraid. She’s staring at her own murder weapon, after all.

“It’s over. I’m leaving.” I can hear the shake in his voice, see it in his weapon, but his confidence is returning. I think the Mauser helps.

Her mouth pops open in shock and all of her features are alight with pain.

“What?! No! No, you’re not!” Tears start to form in those sapphire eyes. She forgets me and the weapon to throw herself on him, trying to hold him in place. He dramatically grabs her shoulders, staring her down. Now, this was a scene from a Bogart movie. It’s so picturesque, I can see that they _look_ like the perfect couple.

She kisses him passionately and if this were a movie, the music would be swelling. They’re a passionate couple, I’ll give them that.

He pulls away and turns his head, “Connie. No. We’re horrible for each other.”

“We’re perfect!” Tears stream down her cheeks and I forget for a moment what she’s capable of.

“You can’t neglect what you overwork. Richard’s been there for me. He’s here for me now. Let’s just let this go. I’m…not happy here.”

She’s hyperventilating and I’m suddenly very worried about Hightower. He keeps his face blank, his killing look, “Connie? Connie, calm down.”

She shrieks at him, loud and inhuman. She rips away from him like he’s on fire.

And throws herself right at me.  Lightning splits my shoulder as she digs the knife in.

Twin thunderclaps take my hearing away and drown out my screams. She falls off me. I look.

Everything above her jaw is smeared across the floor. Dark, rich blood pools under us and the air is filled with the smell, lingering with the gunsmoke and settling on the back of the throat.

Someone grabs my fedora before it can be ruined with her blood. My coat is soaked. I push her away from me. She shudders. The two of them, wearing identical dropshots, wielding identical weapons, stand over me. They point to each other with their free hands.

I look back over at Connie. I stare at what’s left of her head. There’s only one gunshot wound. Only one murderer. Two casings twirl around in the blood.

Let her try and come back from that. I look back at the shooters.

Their weapons are so close, they’re opposite-handed, it’s impossible to see who made the shot.

Hightower puts my hat back on my head. Mark offers his hand. I let him pull me to my feet. Hightower removes his trilby, looking it over fondly. He smiles, hesitates, and then puts it on Mark’s head.

“Welcome back, Agent Diamondback.” He says lowly as my hearing returns.

Diamondback smiles grimly.

“So…,” Hightower stares at his dead namesake, “is everything all right between us?”

His teeth are chattering.

“There is no ‘us’.” Diamondback replies. He pulls out a flask and we all share it until the trembling stops. Absinthe.

Sawscale and Sidewinder peek in slowly; they had been waiting outside the door. Sawscale lets out a single laugh in disbelief, then claps their hand over their mouth. They almost hug Hightower, but stop themselves. I think they were afraid of what would happen if they touched.

Instead, they pull me into a hug, whispering, “I was so worried, baby….”

“Love dangerously.” I remind them. I don’t want them to be a rival.

They take off my hat to kiss me on the top of the head, then replace it. We’ll have to work it out sooner or later.  

Sidewinder coolly takes stock of what happened.

“Mr. Conway, I will forgive you for shooting my partner.”

“I didn’t shoot anybody!” I snap. I did fire kind of blindly, though.

“You shot-“He shows me this shattered frame of a tall, dark-haired woman in military fatigues-“my partner.”

He strokes the broken glass carefully, _“Having died of self-interest, she risks everything and asks for nothing. Love gambles away every gift God bestows.”_

He wipes at his eyes and sets the photograph down. He takes the weapons, “Agent Diamondback, do not think you are automatically guaranteed a liaison position due to your…previous life.”

“I don’t.”

“You three set her up.” I say flatly, “When did you decide this?” I shoot Hightower a nasty look, “And not tell anybody?”

“I was thinking about it for a long time.” Hightower replies, avoiding my gaze, “When Boomslang got burned and she was going to kill you all…I had to do something.”

He looks at us, trying to smile, “I didn’t scare you two too bad, did I?”

Everything that had ever happened between us wells up in my throat. My hand cocks back automatically and I punch Hightower in the face. He goes down.

“Rickie!” Sawscale grabs my hand.

“Boomslang got shot!” I yell.

He gives me this horrible wounded-puppy stare, rubbing his face. Even after everything, I can’t stay mad at him. I pull him to his feet, sighing. He’s been punished enough.

“I’m sorry.” I said, “We’ll work something out, okay?”

“I deserved that.” He replied.

It’s not his fault; not really. He did the best he could with what he had. I pull him into a group hug. He, heh, towers over us.

“Apologize to Boomslang.” I mutter into his chest. I’m crushing my hat brim and for the first time, I don’t care.

“Ahem.” Sidewinder demands our attention, “Agent Cascavel has informed me the police are on their way. You may all stay behind to make new friends, but I am leaving. We will meet at Intex to discuss the terms of surrender.”

I use my best hardboiled voice, “I’m not going to Intex and I’m not surrendering.”

“Let me clarify. I, as acting leader of ISHTAR, will be discussing the terms of our surrender,” Those dark eyes burn into me, “Where and when shall we meet?”

“Innisfree.” I say, “I’ll let you know the details tomorrow.”

I really, really, just want to go to the hospital and take everybody home.

“Very well.”

I grab Sidewinder’s shoulder and stare into those rich, black eyes. I quote from the previous stanza of the same poem, _“Yet, in the midst of suffering, Love proceeds like a millstone, hard-surfaced and straightforward.”_

As we leave, I see Sidewinder look at the photograph of someone long and, to him, forever newly gone. He winks at her.

~

Days later, after everything’s said and done, I’m talking to Mayfield at the Continental Cafe, sorting out what happened over steak and eggs.

In a complete reversal of what I’m used to, I had to ask him for help. He’s not pressing charges against either man and doesn’t seem to care about the agents; he just lets me handle it.

“Do you know how firing squads work?” He asks.

Even I wasn’t that dark, “No.”

Mayfield leans forward, gesturing with his hands, “One person, not part of the firing squad, loads the weapons used, and then walks away. The executioners take the weapons, bolt-action -that’s important-, line up, aim at the heart of the condemned, and fire.”

Sidewinder. He could have loaded the weapons, “Okay….”

“But only one person has a live round. Everyone else has blanks. It takes away hesitation. On a bolt-action rifle, you wouldn’t know you had a live round until you locked the bolt back. Nobody knows who fired the live round. Everyone goes home banking on the better chance they didn’t kill someone.”

I’m still confused, “Broomhandles are semi-auto and blanks don’t look like live rounds, even after they’re spent. Blanks don’t have enough powder to charge the weapon. You could tell who fired right after the fact.”

Mayfield smiles at me, folding his hands, “I saw a magic trick once. You don’t see it often, because it’s dangerous. A magician takes a gun and shows the audience that it’s real. Shows them the rounds, so they know they’re real. Hands it off to an assistant and stands behind a sheet of glass. Assistant on one side, magician on the other. The assistant shoots right at the magician and breaks the glass. The magician falls to the ground. Everyone gasps. The magician gets back up, perfectly fine, and spits out the bullet.”

He waves his hands at me, “Magic.”

Coachwhip’s ghost whispers to me, _“Come. We’ll do it together.”_ I swear I can feel her hand around mine, smell that spicy-sweet tobacco smoke, _“It will be a_ bonding _experience.”_

It had to be done, but they couldn’t do it alone.

“Yeah, sure, magic.” I throw my money down on the counter and stand up.

I understand what Mayfield’s getting at only because I know that trick. The assistant uses rounds with wax bullets. They look completely identical to the real thing. The wax is burnt up with the gunpowder, but not before hitting the glass. The magician has a real bullet hidden in his mouth. The trick is dangerous because of the shattered glass, not because the magician can actually get shot.

So, I’ll leave you with one last mystery.

Who was the magician and who was the assistant?


	24. Epilogue

Call me Leo.

That’s my name.  Leopold Van den Burgh. There’s power in names, but I’ve nothing to be afraid of. I’m a man, not a snake. I used to be called Boomslang.

I’m also a part-time lawyer, part-time hitman, that used to work for an organization called ISHTAR. I don’t remember what it stands for and neither does anybody else.

Ishtar is a Babylonian goddess of fertility, love, sex, and war. She is also responsible for the domestication of beasts. She lent her name to the word for spring, ‘Eastre’.

Just in case you were wondering where the name 'Easter’ came from.

I’m sitting at the Pink Elephant, sipping beer. Gabriel had made it for me. They offered me something else, but all I want is beer. It’s a work night.

From where I was sitting there were only six people in the bar. Sid, the piano player, focuses on his keys. God, when he first laid his hands on that thing I was floored. You just don’t expect that kind of music coming from a guy like that. He doesn’t look at anything else, but he sees everything, just like I do.

He has the best overwatch position in the entire establishment. I’m watching his only blind spot, toward the back. We always sit like this.

He’s wearing his newsboy cap and I think he regrets giving his trilby away. Trilbies are for wankers, Sid. If you want to look like a prohibition-era gangster, wear a fedora.

Richard gets it. He got me this green homburg when I left the hospital. Funny, I never thought I looked good in hats. Leave it to Richard to prove me wrong. The man knew his hats. I’m a believer, now.

He’s sitting at the end of the bar. That’s what brought those two men in here at six in the evening. He’s the man they’ve come to see.

The Pink Elephant has nothing really to advertise, just a pink neon sign in the shape of an elephant above the door. It’s dark and, on busy nights, loud, and off the main drag, so it’s not exactly a popular spot except for the middle-aged, the young with delusions of sophistication, and people looking for some privacy. There was less of the former two and more of the latter since the last owner sold the place. There are more popular bars not a block away and I’m glad they take most of the Pink Elephant’s potential business.

It’s not an economic powerhouse, but it does all right. The new owner wasn’t complaining. He doesn’t need money; he has plenty from his last job. The one that finally drove Intex out of East Point.

Even with the weapon’s ban overturned, I don’t think they’ll be back.

There’s no pool here, no telle, and no poker. The only entertainment comes from the stage, where the piano sat. But the real draw of this place isn’t the drinks or the music, though both were heavenly. The word around East Point is that this was the place where you could solve problems. You see, rumor was that the owner was smart. Not smart in that small talk, trivial way, but actually smart.

He’d better be. Depending on the circumstances, it could cost up to $500 for him to answer a question. Any tasks after that cost more. And that’s not counting tasks that might include us.

It wasn’t as if we have a lot of competition anymore.

Gabriel looks back at the men, drying glasses, “What’ll it be, gentlemen?”

The taller of the two says, “Death in the afternoon.”

One of the silhouettes sits up, paying attention. He recognizes the voice.

Gabriel raises their eyebrow, leaning back, “Champagne and absinthe?”

The shorter of the two taps the taller one on the shoulder, “See? Told you the people here were smart.”

“Little early to be starting on the hard drinking, gentlemen.” They get a champagne flute and a shot glass.

The tall one: “Do you know who I am?”

“A patron, I’m guessing. And you want a death in the afternoon.”

The shorter one says, “Make mine a scotch. Neat.”

“Well, sir, we got cheap, we got good, and we got pretentious. What’ll it be?”

“Macallan? With ice and lemon?”

“Pretentious it is, then.” Gabriel reaches to the top shelf, besides a beanbag frog and snake, and pulls out the bottles with one hand, their strong one. They start to pour the drinks. Richard keeps sipping his gin and tonic, listening. They don’t notice him. Nobody ever does. I didn’t even notice him at first, when we met. I’ve paid for it.

The shorter man says, “My friend here was hoping not to be recognized.”

“If that’s what you want,” Gabriel replies, “maybe you shouldn’t be asking if people know who you are.”

“I don’t think I like your attitude. Mi….” He hangs on the pronoun, as so many others did. At least he hangs instead of assumes. Gabriel is a very beautiful woman. Gabriel is a very handsome man. Even with the eyepatch, they’re very approachable. Sometimes I wonder if they can see through it. Sid was the reason they wore an eyepatch. He got them a new eye, a better one, but still.

He glances up with murder in his eyes, Gabriel talks him down with theirs. He doesn’t miss a note, doesn’t make a sign that his attention was divided.

He just keeps playing.

Gabriel shoots me a disarming glance, too. They aren’t the leader of our outfit, just the peacemaker. I give them an incredulous look, raising my hands.

We’re all on edge about these two.

I know for a fact that there is a Mauser C96 hidden under the bench Sid is sitting on, a rattlesnake fit for a rattlesnake. He could take them both out without hitting anybody else from where he’s sitting. I know what Richard is thinking.

Let the snake sleep, Sid. There’s no need to wake him up just yet.

“It’s just Gabriel, sugar.” I don’t think anybody but myself had called them ‘Rene’ in about twenty years, and only if I was feeling cheeky. They take the bill from them and ring it up, “And we abide by manners here. You’re setting Mr. Duquesne there on edge. He’s one of those sensitive, artistic types.”

That’s one way of thinking of it. Sensitive.

“I don’t have to take this.” The tall one snarls.

His friend grabs his arm, “Hey, so they like to tell jokes, okay?”

“I’ve had enough jokes.”

“Let’s just have our drinks. You want one, right?”

Guy must have come from a long line of whipping boys.

“We can go elsewhere.”

Richard finally smiles, “You think they won’t recognize you elsewhere?”

“We can go across the street, Derek.”

“Sure,” the short one, Derek says, “Everyone will want to buy a drink for the guy that killed his wife.”

The tall one turns to Richard, “Do you know who the fuck I am?”

“Sure, I know who you are. Callahan.”

“I didn’t kill my wife.”

“Never said you did. That was your friend.”

Derek blushes.

“Let’s go. They won’t help if they think I did it.” Callahan stands.

“I didn’t say you did. And even if you did, well, I can help there, too.”

Callahan sits back down, “And shut your bartender up. I don’t abide rudeness, either.”

Gabriel smiles sweetly, “I didn’t mean to offend, sugar. Why don’t you try that drink and ask Mr. Conway what you wanted to ask him?”

Callahan takes a sip and winces.

“You want my honest opinion,” Richard remarks, “it tastes better with a dash of bitters.”

“I don’t. Bitters, please.”

The music stops and the air becomes napalm. I feel the danger radiating from the stage like heat from a red hot iron.

For the love of God, Sid, let the dead snake lie.

Even the two men notice and their tone changes. Richard returns to his glass. He’s not a sensitive person, but Sid is.

Gabriel fixes the drink.

Richard has a bad habit of running his mouth, but he’s the safest man in the world. He’s got the best protection, the kind money can no longer buy. Keeping us under control is where he has issues.

He smiles, tipping his hat, “You’ll have to forgive my piano player. He’s…touchy. He thinks I should be more assertive. I think he could stand to let things slide now and again.”

He turns to Sid to say, “Some people are just like that, Sid. They don’t know any better.”

Sid glances at Richard and his expression softens somewhat. It’s hard to read his face; he looks like he’s perpetually tasting something bitter, but I can tell his killing looks from his less-likely-to-kill looks. Rehabilitation is taking considerably longer with him than it is with us.

Death Adder’s ghost is still haunting him, telling him he has to prove his devotion in the worst possible way. He’s a co-dependent and an enabler that doesn’t quite get how the world works for normal people just yet.  When it was all over, he actually wanted Richard to tattoo him. Not design a tattoo, actually put permanent marks on his skin. Luckily, sanity prevailed.

Derek looks behind him, to the piano. He makes the mistake of looking Sid right in the eyes. A long shiver runs up his back and he taps his friend on the shoulder, gesturing.

Sid speaks, “Either of you two know who _I_ am?”

Derek whimpers, “I do.”

“Good.” He resumes playing.

Callahan is confused at the sudden danger in the air, “Well, I don’t.”

Sid looks up, but the music continues.

Derek hastily explains and Callahan turns the milky-green color of his drink.

And just like that, order has been established.

Richard smiles to himself, finishing his gin. Gabriel pours him another.

“So,” Richard starts, “What did you want to ask?”

“How do you know who I am?”

“Callahan Michaels. You’re rich, you invest in things for a living. You’re on the mayor’s commission for crime. You’re in over your head, there. You recently bought the old Intex building; I think you said you were going to turn it into an office building or something.”

“That’s right.”

“Anyway, about your wife….”

“She’s finished me.” Callahan snapped, “Even if the police never touch me, I’m finished. I’m the guy that everyone thinks killed his wife. I was going to be mayor.”

Mayor of East Point? Yeah, that’s prestigious.

Callahan looks like he’s about to spit on the floor. I wonder what I’ll do if he does that. Probably break one of his arms if Sid doesn’t kill him first, “Of all the run-down greasy spoons in the city, she breaks down at that one. I don’t get it. Why would someone want to fuck me?”

“I have no idea why anybody would want to fuck you.” Gabriel says, “You want another?”

“No thanks,” Callahan says, “maybe a bourbon.”

“Take mine.” Derek pushes his drink toward his friend.  

Gabriel points at me with their chin, “You all right there, Leo?”

I stay quiet when there are customers, so I just nod. I sip my pint.

“Jesus.” Callahan says when he finally notices me, “How did your parents let you get like that?”

“I ate my parents.” I reply into my glass.

There is a heavy pause.

“Tell me about the murder scene.” Richard orders.

“Like something out of a fucking movie.” Callahan replies, “Everyone thinks I put a hit out on my wife.”

One of the silhouettes shifts.

Gabriel says, “Not everyone.”

Richard says, “She wasn’t the only one killed.”

“No, Bernelli, my rival, and his manager got killed, too. Forced this Greek family to open so he could get gyros. Now, they’re dead. Selfish prick.”

“It cost him.” Richard remarks.

“The hitmen were thorough.”

Sid narrows his eyes in disagreement and disapproval.

“I remember the scene.” Richard says, “Five dead. Bernelli and his campaign manager. The Greek couple that ran the restaurant. A poor, stray dog. Your wife.”

Damned dogs.

“That’s why everyone thinks I did it! She’s fucking me beyond the grave.” He chokes on his drink, “We had a fight. She was leaving. She was going to take everything!”

“She was found dead in her car, gunshot to the chest. Entered from the side, through the car door. No witnesses; it was dark.”

“Maybe I wanted her dead, but I didn’t kill her!” He slams his hands on the bar and knocks his glass over. Sid plays a disharmonious chord, hissing through his teeth. I grab his shoulder and sit him back down.

Gabriel coolly looks at the shattered glass amid the pool of alcohol. They very deliberately take a piece of the glass, put it in their mouth, and bite down, crunching. Callahan blanches again, apologizes, and uses his tie to clean the mess.

The glass made of sugar, don’t worry. They really only brought it out for clients that might get testy. Gabriel appearing to eat glass keeps them breathing longer, I’ve noticed. Sid starts playing again.

Richard grabs a cocktail napkin and draws up a map of the place. I can’t see it, but I’m guessing he’s drawing out where the bodies were found and where the bullets hit the building. The man has contacts within the police department; he can get the information he needs.

“Must’ve been an uzi they was using.” Gabriel remarks.

“How would you know?” I think Callahan is just stressed and his manners were the first thing to go. I don’t think he’s trying to be rude. He can’t be that suicidal.

“Machine pistols ain’t all that accurate,” they explain, “blowback, open bolt weapon. Sometimes you can get them in .45; that’d punch right through the car door. You’d get a lot of spray. I don’t like machine pistols much.” They cast a meaningful glance at Sid. He doesn’t care. He loves his pistol the way Sawscale loves theirs.  

“Maybe a Mauser?”

“A broomhandle? Ha!” Gabriel shakes their head, “They stopped making those in 1937. You’d have a much easier time finding an uzi. Uzis are fun if all you want to do is spray and pray.”

Richard speaks, “Spray and pray they did. Weird thing, though….” He draws something on the napkin, “How’d the dog get hit?”

“Sick bastards must’ve shot the dog for the hell of it.” Callahan says.

“Well, I’ve got it all figured out, so if my prices are reasonable….”

“Half now, half when it’s done.”

“When what’s done?” Richard plays dumb.

“Make cold cases out of those fuckers.”

Sid and I perk up.

“Bar’s closed, gentlemen. Time to go.” Gabriel orders. They set out more glasses and start making more cocktails, since they have to use the champagne. They use vermouth instead of bitters.

“Come get you something to drink, Leo. Sid, I already know you want one.”

“When I find the bastards that did this, I’ll let you know.” Richard says, “Then we’ll talk about what to do with them.”

Callahan tips his hat and leaves with his friend.

If the job doesn’t involve computers, Richard’s usually not interested. He’s not a hitman. He takes these sort of jobs for us, a sort of weaning or release valve.  Richard had ISHTAR by the balls; we don’t hurt for money, anymore.

Gabriel throws the rest of the glass away and starts spraying down the counter, “What you figuring out there, Mayfield?”

The police chief looks up from his whiskey, no longer a silhouette, “She wasn’t the target; she was incidental, a casualty of a very sloppy hit. Callahan’s out as a suspect.”

The music stops and Sid is suddenly draped around Richard’s neck. He’s traded their hats so he can lay his chin on his head. The cap smashes down over Richard’s eyes.

He’s only smiling with his eyes. He reaches his hand out to Gabriel, like they’re going to high-five. Gabriel smiles and presses their open hand to his and the thumbs grasp. I find it extremely vexing and adorable at the same time. They’re slowly working their way back to how it was before.

I think Richard wants them both. Their slow progress annoys him, too, but he doesn’t press the issue. They’ll come around eventually.

Richard looks up and kisses Sid’s chin, “What the hell was that?”

“Derek Erikson used to work with a small-time gangster until I came along. He and Callahan are both lucky he was too hungover to get out of bed that night I showed up. There’s still a hit out on him.”

“Must be looking for protection,” Richard replies. He squeezes Sid’s hands, “No going rogue.”

Richard had given up on trying to bury our murderous selves; he simply woke them up when he needed them. The old Diamondback never really sleeps, I’ve noticed. Richard probably finds it exciting. I keep eyes on Sid, just to be sure.

Is there such a thing as a reformed serial killer? I’d like to think so.

Mayfield tells his beer, "It wasn’t when they shot Bernelli.”

Richard says, “And it wasn’t when they shot the owners.”

Sid says, “It was when they shot the dog. Stupid, careless, cruel hitmen. I fucking hate sloppy hitmen.”

Call it professionalism, because so do I.

I sit down at the bar with them, “They call themselves hitmen and don’t account for ricochet or penetration. Sloppy, sloppy.”  

“They’re making us look bad, Mr. Leopold.” Sid sneers.

“We can’t have amateurs ruining our profession, Mr. Sidney.” I smile.

Gabriel snorts and shakes their head, smiling, “Jesus wept. As a favor to Mayfield over there, can we get the guys that called the hit?”

They’d just gotten their cast taken off and the difference was striking. It would take a long time to get that strength back. They have to sit this out, but I think they prefer it that way. They were a hunter, not much of a killer.

Richard says, “We need to find the hitmen, first. Want in on this, Chief?”

“Nah,” Mayfield waves us off, “I’m a lawman, not a vigilante. If you find the guys that ordered this, let me know. Lots of cold cases in East Point, what’s one or a few more? Could use a gender-neutral Texas Ranger that used to specialize in cold cases and gang violence on the force to help sort it all out, but where would I find that person?”

Gabriel shakes their head, “Where, oh, where?”

He stands up, putting cash on the table, “Officer Zelle, make sure your resume is on my desk by C.O.B Friday with your full legal name or I can’t guarantee you a slot for the police academy. You’ve been out too long, so you’ll have to go through again.”

“It ain’t never gonna be on your desk.”

“Yes, it is!” He calls over his shoulder, leaving.

Gabriel took a flying leap over the thin blue line a long time ago and Mayfield knows that. They do this all the time.

They nod to the drink in my hand, “I personally prefer it with the vermouth.”

“Agreed.” I sip the drink. The fiery anise cuts through the effervescence of chilled champagne. It’s a drink about dichotomies: hot and cold, fear and courage, life and death. The vermouth smooths the drink and cuts down on the alcohol. Even still, it’s enough to end someone’s day pretty quickly and mine was just beginning.

I’m looking forward to this.


End file.
